


Afterwards

by alethioraven



Series: Afterwards [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 49
Words: 59,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alethioraven/pseuds/alethioraven
Summary: Hermione returns to Hogwarts after the war to earn her NEWTs and falls in love with her least favourite professor.  This story is a long slow burn.   If you want to skip to the action I suggest starting at chapter 37.  This fic is complete.  The story continues in part 2: Hermione and the Philosopher King.





	1. Chapter 1

“Last chance, “ Ginny says, holding the head girl badge out to Hermione. Hermione gives an indelicate snort and pushes Ginny’s outstretched hand away.  
Ginny sighs and looks out the window of the train, watching the Scottish countryside fly by. “It’s so weird to be going back to Hogwarts without them. I wish they were here.”  
“Both of them?” Hermione sounds skeptical.  
“Yes,” she says, “Even my most annoying brother.” Then, after a small silence, “Sorry.”  
Hermione doesn’t mind the reference to Ron, though, and she smiles at Ginny. “It’s OK, really,” she says. The breakup was surprisingly anticlimactic. She had used the excuse of their lives going separate ways, with herself going back to Hogwarts to get her NEWTS and with Ron starting auror training at the ministry. But really it was just a lack of chemistry. “And I wish they were here too,” she said, “both of them.”  
“Really?” says Ginny, surprised.  
“Of course,” says Hermione, a little exasperated. “They’re my best friends. More importantly, I think it was completely unacceptable that the ministry accepted them into the auror program without their NEWTS! And before you say ‘but they defeated Voldemort’ just hear me out. A lot of that was just brave, dumb luck. Harry and Ron are both incredibly brave, but bravery doesn’t make up for a lack of knowledge. I just really hope they don’t get themselves killed before they realize that. Honestly I’m disgusted by the Minister, so desperate to have the ‘chosen one’ on the payroll he’s willing to risk their lives!”  
Ginny has her hands up in mock surrender at this point. She knows that once Hermione gets going you just have to let her get it all out. While Hermione lists all the areas where Harry and Ron are lacking academically, and all the various ways that lack of knowledge could get them killed, Ginny studies her friend.  
Hermione has cut her hair dramatically short, like a boy’s cut, really, and it suits her. Her eyes look a little bigger, and her high cheekbones are more pronounced. She has a long, graceful neck. She looks much older than her eighteen years, especially when her expression is dark and thoughtful, which is pretty much all the time now.  
Hermione has stopped ranting now and is staring at Ginny, awaiting some kind of response. “I like your hair like that,” says Ginny. She is stroking her own long red hair as she says it.  
Hermione rolls her eyes at this, but she is smiling. Her smiles are rare these days, and Ginny is happy to see it. She wants to prolong this moment, so she asks Hermione a question that will make her happy to answer. “What are you taking this term?”  
Hermione lights up, right on cue. “Transfiguration, charms, defense against the dark arts, astronomy and divination with Firenze, arithmancy, ancient runes, and potions.” The last word she says carefully, delicately, as if it tastes bad in her mouth. “I’m also going to study for care of magical creatures and muggle studies on my own, those shouldn’t be hard to pass.”  
“Potions?” says Ginny. “Has Snape recovered then?”  
“Professor Snape, really, Ginny, if you’re going to be head girl-“  
But Ginny cuts her off this time, “Okay, Okay, has Professor Snape recovered then?”  
“I assume so,” says Hermione, “He left St. Mungo’s over a month ago.” Hermione doesn’t look at Ginny as she says this, and the light in her face has evaporated, leaving her features unnervingly blank. Ginny has watched this transformation in Hermione over the summer- Hermione has been pulling inside herself, leaving the outside perfectly and mysteriously blank. It is deeply troubling to Ginny.  
The girls change into their school robes as the train approaches Hogwarts. Ginny pins on her Head Girl badge. “I can’t believe they didn’t come looking for you,” Hermione says, “You were supposed to be in the carriage with the rest of the prefect.”  
Ginny smirks. “They’re all terrified of you. As long as you’re in here with me they won’t come looking.”  
Hermione quirks an eyebrow at this and snorts again. Ginny is trying to work out who this expression reminds her of when the train begins to slow. 

Hermione steps off the train onto the platform, looks up at the castle, and is assaulted by a series of powerful emotions all at once. She has been preparing for this moment for weeks now, and keeps her face blank. But inside she is weeping, and laughing, and terrified. She sees that the damage to the castle has been repaired, and she is full to bursting with pride. As they exit the carriages she can’t help but notice how many children can see the thestrals, and it makes her ache acutely for each and every one of them. As they enter the great hall, she is trembling despite her best efforts. She reaches out and takes Ginny’s hand. Together, they enter Hogwarts for their final year.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“Something’s wrong,” says Ginny. Hermione nods. They are more than a dozen students into the sorting and not a single one has been sorted into Slytherin. Hermione’s attention is glued to the staff table. 

Headmistress McGonagall’s face is tight with tension. Hermione watches as the headmistress turns to the Deputy Headmaster, Professor Snape. Snape’s face is cold and impassive as ever, but he gives his head a little shake at the headmistress. Clearly they have no idea what is going on with the sorting hat. 

The sorting hat continues to sort the first year’s into Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Griffindor. When a few first years from old pureblood families aren’t sorted into Slytherin, that table begins to make a scene. The headmistress has to stop the sorting momentarily to put a stop to the ensuing chaos. They don’t quiet down until Snape rises silently from his seat, scowling them into submission. 

When the last fist year is sorted, McGonagall rises from her seat. “Well,” she says, “This is an unexpected development. I will be discussing it with my staff and the board of governors. Meanwhile, I would like to welcome you all back to… “

Hermione stops paying attention to the speech that follows. Her head is whirling. Could the sorting hat just do away with the Slytherin house? It could, apparently. Simply by not sorting anyone else into Slytherin, that house will cease to exist within a few years. Personally, she does not think it is a bad idea. How many innocent students had felt pressured to support Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters simply because they had been sorted into Slytherin House? How many students had cultivated their own prejudice and cruelty, justified by the values of that house? 

McGonagall concludes her speech and Hermione automatically claps along with the rest of her fellow Griffindors. As the food appears upon the golden plates before them, the table breaks into a buzz of conversation about the bizarre behavior of the sorting hat. “What do you think, Hermione?” Ginny says, loudly enough to be heard over the din. The table goes quiet and most of the students turn toward her, waiting for her answer. 

Hermione balks at the sudden attention for a moment. Then, resigned to her role, she squares her shoulders and draws in a breath. “I don’t know how this happened, but it is a good thing. I know that Salazar Slytherin was a founding member of Hogwarts, and that Slytherin House has existed for thousands of years. I imagine there will be plenty of pushback against the sorting hat by some of the old Wizarding families. But the values of Salazar Slytherin, namely his ideas on purity of blood, nearly destroyed the entire British Wizarding community. I don’t think we can afford to justify or indulge those ideas by giving them a place at Hogwarts.”

House Griffindor gives her a standing ovation, and Hermione is surprised, and pleased. As her house tucks into the feast, the conversation around her turns to quidditch. But Hermione has a knot in her stomach. She knows the old Wizarding families will not simply let Slytherin House fade into history. Not without a fight. 

Tuesday at lunch Hermione and Ginny have to break up a fight between two fourth year girls, and it makes them late to potions. They bring a note from Poppy in the infirmary to excuse their tardiness. Any other class and Hermione wouldn’t have bothered, but it’s Snape. She knows he likes rules. He likes enforcing rules. Especially when it comes to insufferable know it alls. 

Hermione is still extremely apprehensive as she enters the dungeon. She trembles like a first year as Snape rounds on them as soon as they step across the threshold and into his domain. “Twenty points from Griffindor… each,” says Snape. “Take your seats.”

Hermione holds out the note to Snape, but he makes no move to take it from her hands, so she is just standing there holding it out like an idiot. “Pardon the interruption, Prof-“ she says, but she doesn’t get to finish. 

“Twenty more points!” Snape says, “Take your seats, you self righteous little twats, or it will be a hundred points and a month’s of detentions.” 

Ginny takes her seat. She needs her potions Newt to enter auror training next year. Hermione needs a potions Newt, too, but she doesn’t need Snape’s instruction to sit the exam. Inwardly, she starts composing the apology letter to house Griffindor she will have to write for the points she is about to lose. 

Hermione looks into Snape’s black eyes. Inwardly, she is weeping at his treatment of her. It’s her first day of classes all over again, and her brilliant teacher hates her. But she isn’t twelve anymore. She’s almost nineteen, and she’s fought in a war, and she doesn’t wear her emotions all over her face anymore. She had hoped this year, after everything that has happened, would be different. 

She tries to summon up some anger at his bullying, but she finds she is only deeply sad. Sad that he has sacrificed so much, saved so many lives, and – in the end- failed to save himself. 

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, Professor. But I won’t let you bully me any more,” Hermione says. Then she steps around him, places the note from Madam Pomfrey on his desk, and leaves his classroom.


	3. Chapter 3

The Headmistress looks at Hermione sternly across her desk. “Did you really call Professor Snape a bully and storm out of his classroom?” 

“Yes.”

The Headmistress sighs. Then she reaches across the desk and lifts the lid off her cookie tin. “Have a cookie.”

Hermione stares back at McGonagall incredulously. “I’m sorry, Headmistress?” she says, thinking she misheard. 

“Have a cookie!”

Hermione takes a cookie. It’s a lemon cookie. This makes the corner of her mouth twitch up a bit. 

“Now,” says McGonagall, “What do you hope to accomplish by your actions?”

“Excuse me?”

“Professor Snape is a vile, nasty man. He’s going to say and do vile, nasty things.”

Hermione chews her lemon cookie and studies the headmistress. She looks tired. And old. Suddenly, Hermione feels ashamed for wasting this woman’s time with trivialities. ‘is that what my feelings are to me now?’ she thinks to herself, ‘trivialities?’ Then she says, “Professor Snape can be vile and nasty all he wants. But not to me. Not any more.”

The headmistress sighs again. “He has assigned you a month’s of detentions.”

At this Hermione laughs out loud, spraying McGonagall’s desk with bits of half chewed lemon cookie. It is not a cynical laugh either, but one full of genuine humor. As soon as she has control of herself, she uses her wand to silently vanish the cookie, still chuckling to herself. 

“Let’s go over the facts, Professor, shall we?” Hermione says, and then continues without waiting for a reply. “Ginny and I were held up today in the infirmary after lunch. We made sure to get a note from Madam Pomfrey, knowing that Professor Snape is a stickler for the rules. When Ginny and I entered his dungeon, he promptly took points and spoke disrespectfully to us. When I tried to apologize to him and give him the note, he took more points and then called us ‘self righteous twats.’ That is when I informed Professor Snape that I wouldn’t be bullied by him, put the note on his desk, and left. So please, tell me, which one of us behaved badly in that scenario?”

Professor McGonagall looks a little stunned. Apparently, she hasn’t heard the entire story. Hermione feels bad for putting her favorite professor in such an awkward position, but she crosses her arms across her chest and holds her ground. 

“Hermione, dear, you aren’t wrong. Look, I can talk to Professor Snape about the language he used with you two. But he has made it very clear he won’t take you back in his class unless you agree to the detentions.”

Hermione shrugs and gathers up her books, standing to leave. “I don’t need Snape’s instruction to pass my potions Newt-“

“Professor Snape,” McGonagall says gently. 

“Not mine,” Hermione says. “Snape can take his month of detentions and shove them up his self righteous twat.” 

At that, McGonagall rises to her feet as well. “Miss Granger!”

“I’m sorry, professor, I’ll do all the detentions you want me to for that remark, but I will do them for you, not him!”

The headmistress sits back down again with a huff. Then she looks back up at Hermione, and really looks at her, as though she is looking for the first time. The nervous, eager, bushy haired child is gone. A woman has taken her place, and she is all angles and edges. There is a hardness in Hermione that makes Minerva McGonagall want to weep with shame and regret. ‘How did this happen, Albus?’ she thinks to herself. ‘How did we send our children off to fight our war? And why am I so shocked now when they refuse to be treated like children once more?’ She just looks at Hermione. She is at a complete loss for words, and suddenly feels very, very tired. 

“It’s a shame,” Hermione says softly. “Severus Snape is a genius. He is proud and brave and brilliant and I was so looking forward to studying with him this year! I mean, Harry became the best in our class just from reading the notes he made as a student in the margins his textbook!” She laughs at this. 

“Why can’t you?” McGonagall asks her urgently. “Why are you taking this so personally?”

Suddenly Hermione feels very tired, too. She sits back down. “Did you know it was me, in the shrieking shack?” she says. “I had the antivenin, loads of it. I was worried about Nagini. I brewed about a gallon of the stuff before I ever left home. I poured it all into Snape, and then all the blood replenisher I had, and then I cast every healing spell I knew, and then it seemed like he was still dying so I just held him and-“ here, Hermione begins to cry, “I told him he was good, and that I would tell everyone about how he tried to help us at the end-“ and here she breaks down, and sobs onto the desk like a child. 

This is when Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reaches her limit. “Come out from behind that cabinet, Severus,” she says, her voice a trembling, angry, rasp, “And see what you’ve done.”


	4. Chapter 4

Severus stalks out from behind the cabinet with all the dignity he can muster. Which isn’t much. Of all the sodding ridiculous things she can do, to make him hide behind the cabinet and listen to her conversation! It is a stunt even Albus wouldn’t have considered. He glances at the girl. She still has her head down on the desk. 

Minerva transfigures him a chair from a paperweight (‘showoff,’ he thinks) and gestures for him to sit. He does. The girl has stopped crying. Now she is sniffling and snorting and, sitting up, raises her sleeve to her face. This is too much for Severus. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, here,” he says, pushing a handkerchief toward her. Hermione looks at the handkerchief, then at Snape, before dragging her sleeve across her face. 

“Really, you two?” says McGonagall, clearly at her wit’s end. “How did we go from saving the Wizarding world from one of the greatest threats it has ever faced, to this?!” She gestures between them. 

Snape snorts. Hermione shrugs. They both refuse to look at each other. 

“I don’t understand you, Severus, I really don’t,” McGonagall says, “You complain ceaselessly about having to teach halfwits and dunderheads. But when a truly gifted, no, brilliant student comes along, you spend those precious years degrading and humiliating her in front of her peers!”

“I had no choice-“ Severus hisses, but McGonagall cuts him off. 

“Yes, yes, I know but why today?! What possible excuse can you have for abusing her now?” McGonagall is shaking with rage at this point, and Hermione almost begins to feel sorry for Snape. Almost. 

“Abuse?” Snape says, spitting out the word with obvious distaste, clearly offended by the accusation. 

“Yes, Professor Snape, abuse!” McGonagall is almost shouting now. “Referring to a young female under your authority by a crude name for her genitalia is verbal abuse!”

Snape bows his head at this, and Hermione thinks this is about as much as an admission of acquiescence as McGonagall will get. Then he says, “A brilliant as you think Miss Granger is, I cannot teach her if she doesn’t respect me and wish to learn from me.” 

“Are you pretending you didn’t hear our conversation now? Hermione, dear, please tell Professor Snape what you think of him. Tell him what you told me.” McGonagall was gentle, but firm. 

Hermione’s face burns, and she can’t look up. But she says it clearly enough. “I think you are brilliant, Professor Snape, and brave. And- I’ve always wanted to learn from you.”

“Thank you, dear. Your honesty is brave. How many points did professor Snape take from you today?”

“Forty,” says Hermione, “plus another hundred if he followed through on his threat. Which I’m sure he did.” Her head is still down. 

“One hundred and fifty points to Griffindor for being honest and brave. You will also serve one night’s detention with me for your vulgar remark about Professor Snape made in my presence.”

Hermione nods and looks up for the fist time since Snape has entered the room. “Thank you, Professor.” It’s more than fair. 

“Now,” says the Headmistress in a more official tone. “You two are both adults and I can’t force you to reconcile your differences. Professor Snape is perfectly within his rights to expel you from his classes, Miss Granger. And Miss Granger, is of course perfectly right that she can choose to sit the NEWTS without taking your class, Professor. However, I think it would be a shame if you two were to choose to go that route. And cowardly. You both have a lot to offer each other. So please give me the respect of at least considering my proposals.” She turns to face Hermione. “Miss Granger. Will you agree to do the month’s worth of detentions if Professor Snape agrees that your time will be spent grading his papers, helping him brew, or under his instruction?”

Hermione doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she says. She looks up at Snape for the first time. He looks surprised at her reply. 

“Professor Snape,” McGonagall says, turning toward him, speaking gently, “In light of what both of you have been through, will you please consider apologizing to Miss Granger for the way you spoke to her today.”

Snape looks up at the Headmistress, startled by the request. The Headmistress looks down at Snape, pleading with him silently. For her, so much hangs in this delicate balance. She doesn’t even understand why she wants these two to reconcile so badly, but she does. Want it. Badly. 

Snape nods, and turns to Hermione, who’s face has gone from bright red to white as a sheet. Her mouth hangs open a little in shock. “Please accept my apology, Miss Granger, for the way I spoke to you and Miss Weasley today. It was unconscionable.” He says it slowly, quietly, and Hermione believes he is completely sincere. Her head is spinning. 

“Yes, Professor,” She says, barely above a whisper. And then, because she feels like she needs to say something. “I’m glad you’re alive.” At this, she swears she can see the corner of his mouth twitch, just for a moment, as if he were fighting the urge to smile at her. Her eyes threaten to well up again, and she turns to McGonagall. “May I please be excused, Headmistress?”

“Yes, Miss Granger. Detention with me tomorrow evening, my office, after dinner. Don’t forget.”

“No, Ma’am,” she says, and hurries from the room. 

“Fuck,” says Severus as the door shuts behind her. 

“I know,” says Minerva. She fumbles in her desk and pulls out a crystal decanter of amber liquid and two sparkling glasses. “Drink?” she says, already pouring herself one. Wordlessly, he holds out his hand.


	5. Chapter 5

The next evening Hermione arrives outside the Headmistress’ office promptly after dinner. “Password?” asks the gargoyle, yawning. 

“Lemon Cookie?” asks Hermione with a smirk. The gargoyle swings aside to let her pass. Hermione is feeling a more than a little smug as she enters the office. 

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake Miss Granger,” says McGonagall as Hermione enters. “That is not the password. He knew you were coming.”

“Oh,” says Hermione, feeling foolish. She watches the Headmistress with curiosity. McGonagall is dropping a few of her hairs into a vial of- “Is that - - Polyjuice, Professor?”

“Indeed, Miss Granger. For your detention, you will be opening my fan mail.” The Headmistress gestures toward an enormous pile of letters in the corner of her office, every one of them bright red. Howlers. 

Hermione sighs and holds her hand out for the vial. Then, she toasts McGonagall with it. “Alastor Moody,” she says, before gulping down the potion. She shudders. “Still tastes like goblin piss.” 

“Don’t forget to cast a silencing charm,” McGonagall says. “I have work to do.”

Later that evening Hermione’s ears are still ringing as she crawls in bed next Ginny in the head girl’s rooms. She has her own bed with the other seventh years, but she has fallen into the habit of sleeping here. Hermione and Ginny both agree that a king size bed for a fifty kilogram girl is ridiculous. There is more than enough room for both of them.

“Really?” Ginny says. “Two hours of howlers? Fuck, Hermione, I am so sorry.”

“At least Snape can’t make me clean cauldrons tomorrow. McGonagall was adamant about that.” Hermione groans. “How the fuck am I going to get all my homework done with detention every night? I wish I still had the time turner.”

“You can copy off me,” says Ginny, “At least for the classes we have together.”

Hermione chuckles at the irony. “I might take you up on that.” 

 

Hermione stands outside Snape’s office for five full minutes before she knocks, mentally preparing herself for- for what? The fact of the matter is Hermione has no idea what to expect on the other side of that door, and that alone terrifies her more than anything else. But it doesn’t take long for her fear of being tardy outweighs her fear of the potions Professor, and she knocks smartly on the door. 

“Enter.” His voice literally gives her the chills, even from behind a closed door. She enters. He is seated behind his desk. He has a silver pocket watch in his left had, the chain disappearing into his bat-like robes. “You spent five minutes hovering outside my door, Miss Granger. Explain yourself.” 

He made no motion for her to sit, so she remains standing. “Composing myself, Professor. Mentally preparing myself, I suppose.” Hermione shrugs, very uncomfortable by his interrogation. Then, almost as an afterthought she adds, “I’m terrified of you.”

Snape guffaws openly at this proclamation. “That’s not very Griffindor of you.”

“With respect, sir, I disagree. Bravery is courage in the face of fear, not lack of fear itself.”

He snorts, but does not refute or insult her argument. Hermione take this as high praise, and has to put not a small amount of effort into keeping it from showing on her face. She hates that she is, always has been, so eager to earn his approval. 

Snape stands up and motions to a stack of papers on his desk. “Start grading,” he says. “I’ll be working in the lab. You can leave at ten. Don’t interrupt me.” He turns to leave through a door at the back of his office. “Oh- and Miss Granger-“

“Yes Professor?”

“Please remember that I am vile, nasty, and above all- a perfectionist. And grade accordingly.”

“Yes Professor.” Hermione sits down and reaches for the red ink bottle. Snape leaves her to it.


	6. Chapter 6

The next evening Hermione arrives in front Snape’s office right after dinner. Despite his earlier admonitions, she still gives her self a minute to compose herself. When she does knock, the door swings silently open. His desk is empty, save for a stack of third year essays, a bottle of red ink, and a quill. 

An hour later when she reaches the end of the stack of papers she finds a note:

“Come into the lab and evaluate the first year’s shrinking solutions. Do NOT disturb me.”

Hermione gets up from the desk and makes her way through the door and into Snape’s private lab. She can’t help but gape a little as she steps through the door. Carved wooden tables hold his equipment – most of which Hermione doesn’t even recognize- and the walls are wall to ceiling book shelves crammed full of books. The air is fresh, obviously there is some sort of magical ventilation system. Snape has his back to her- he is standing over a small cauldron the color of mercury, muttering an incantation. It takes all of Hermione’s self control not to just stand there and watch him work. 

She turns resolutely to the neat row of first year potions and begins the painstaking process of evaluating them with spell work. She ignores the bucket of toads set out next to them, shuddering. She still remembers the look on Neville’s face when Snape tested a potion on the boy’s familiar, Trevor. 

At ten o’clock, she still has four potions left, so she decides to stay and finish. She is in the process of decanting the first potion when Snape’s voice startles her, “It’s past ten, Miss Granger.” She almost drops the potion. She steadies herself and finishes decanting it. 

“Only four more, Professor.”

“You could have finished in half the time if you had used the toads I provided,” Snape says, casting a stasis spell over the peculiar silver cauldron. He glides across the room toward Hermione. The combination of that low, sonorous voice and the bat-like gliding is, to Hermione, compelling and creepy at the same time. She has to concentrate on not visibly shaking as he approaches her. “The Headmistress made it clear to me I was to release you by ten.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione says, backing away reluctantly from the last of the shrinking solutions. She glances furtively at the bucket of toads. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Miss Granger, I do NOT need live toads to test a first year potion!” he snarls. He snatches the quill up off the table and proceeds to grade the last four potions, without doing more than glancing at them. 

“But you- Trevor- Neville-“ Hermione stutters, managing to look horrified and confused at the same time. 

Snape looks down at Hermione for a moment, as if considering what to say. Then, “Miss Granger, I would think that you, of all people, would be clever enough to realize the point of that exercise. Think on it, and come back to me tomorrow with your answer. If it is satisfactory, we will continue your detentions. If not…” He turns away abruptly and glides back to his potion.

The next evening Snape’s office is empty again. Hermione sits down and slogs through two stacks of poorly written fourth year papers. By the end of it she has the beginning of a colossal headache, and it no longer takes any effort to be cutting and sarcastic in her remarks. She almost feels sorry for Snape. Almost. 

As she finishes the last paper with two paragraphs of biting commentary and a failing mark, Snape swoops into the office behind her. The air from the door swinging shut behind him sends the papers whirling off the desk like leaves in an autumn storm. Hermione quickly summons them back with a nonverbal spell and then looks up at Snape. She is still holding the final paper. He holds out his hand. She puts the paper in it. 

Hermione watches Snape’s face as he reads the paper, his expression turning from bored to sour. For once, she thinks this expression is entirely appropriate. When he reaches her remarks, and subsequent grade, his eyebrows go up slightly and the deeply ingrained sneer vanishes from his face entirely. Is this surprise? Approval? Hermione can’t tell. He looks up from the paper. 

“Careful, Miss Granger,” Snape says, his voice low and expressive, “If you continue to grade like this I’ll keep you in detention all year.”

Hermione allows herself a small smile, and stays silent, looking up at him without breaking eye contact. His face, she realizes, isn’t altogether unpleasant when he stops sneering. 

“Now, about yesterday’s discussion,” he says, “Do you have an answer for me?”

Hermione purses her lips at this. She wants to say, ‘yeah, you did it because you’re an asshole.’ Snape’s mouth twitches a bit. ‘shit,’ Hermione thinks, ‘can he hear me? That is so fucking creepy.’ Snape’s eyebrow goes up. He looks amused. 

“Do you have something to tell me, Miss Granger?”

“Uh-“ she says, trying to formulate a coherent thought. “You threatened Neville with the death of his toad to impress on him- no all of us- the seriousness of the subject at hand and the potential consequences of our mistakes.”

“Correct, Miss Granger. Five points to Griffindor.” Hermione’s mouth drops open at this. Snape has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. “Also, I did it because I’m an asshole. Go to bed. You look tired.” He exits back into his lab, leaving a very stunned Hermione Granger sitting at her desk, mouth still open.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione is tired. But she can’t do as professor instructed her to do. It’s barely a week into first term and her Professors are heaping on the homework. Most students only take a few NEWTs, and have free periods to do the extensive work required. Hermione has taken a full load of classes- the most she can fit without using a time turner- and she was planning on using her evenings for revising. Now, her evenings are spent in detention. Hermione lets herself into the Head Girl’s chambers and starts in on her arithmancy.

Ginny joins Hermione just after midnight. “Now I know why you gave me the badge!” She sputters, climbing through the portrait hole. “Fucking patrols. You know, technically you’re still a prefect.”

“I’ll do patrols for you when I’m out of detention,” Hermione says without looking up from her arithmancy equation. 

“Fine,” Ginny says and flops down on the bed. “You want to copy my charms essay? It’s good.”

“I’ll read it,” says Hermione. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem,” says Ginny. “My brother and my boyfriend wouldn’t have even made it through first year without you I reckon.” Then, “When are we going to hold the first DA meeting?”

“Um… we won the war,” says Hermione. But she puts down her quill and turns around to face Ginny. 

“So? Nothing else could go wrong?” Ginny is sitting up on the bed now. She has her serious face on now. 

Ginny has a point, Hermione concedes to herself. Especially in light of all the howlers in the Headmistress’ office. She nods. “You’re right. But I’m swamped. How about the first Hogsmede weekend?”

Ginny shakes her head. “We need this, Hermione. And they need you. And Harry, and Ron. They all fought in the battle. They lost their friends, they lost their parents. The DA is like… what’s that thing that muggles go to for comfort? With the bells?”

“Church,” says Hermione. 

“They need it, Hermione.” Ginny is adamant. “We need it.” Then, very quietly, “You need it.” 

“Okay,” Hermione says, “When can Harry and Ron come?”

“Tomorrow night. After that, they start field training and won’t be available for a month.”

“I have detention with Snape, Ginny!”

Ginny shrugs. “So? Fuck Snape.”

Hermione laughs at this. “What time?”

“Eight o’clock. Room of requirement.”

“What’s the plan, exactly?” Hermione asks. 

“I think we just all need to be together and talk about everyone that died in the war. And get drunk. Have a good laugh and a good cry. You know.” She tears up a little.   
And Hermione is suddenly yanked out of her own selfish troubles as she is confronted with the sight of a sad girl who just lost her brother. A sad girl who has been trying very hard to put on a good face. “Oh, Ginny,” Hermione says, and goes to put her arms around her friend, arithmancy equations forgotten.

 

The next evening Hermione rushes to Snape’s office directly after dinner. Of course, he isn’t there. Just a stack of papers to grade and a bright bottle of red ink. Hermione hesitates for a moment before pointing her wand at the door of Snape’s laboratory. “Homenum Revelio.” Nothing. “Expacto Patronum!” A lively silver otter bursts out of her wand. Hermione sends the Otter into the lab with a message: “Good evening professor Snape. I deeply regret the intrusion on your privacy, but I’m afraid I need to speak with you and it can’t wait.” The silver otter disappears through the door of the lab. Hermione perches on the edge of the desk and waits. And waits. She is considering knocking on the door when it bangs open. 

“What?” says Snape. He isn’t pleased. 

“I’m so sorry, Professor,” trying to speak quickly to make it harder for him to interrupt her. “I can’t stay tonight. Is there any way we can reschedule?”

Snape’s eyebrows go up. “You agreed to a month’s worth of detentions, Miss Granger, in exchange for continued enrollment in my NEWT class. No, detention, no class.”

Hermione is disappointed, but not really surprised. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she says, and she is. She gets up to go. She makes it halfway across the room when-

“You’re not dismissed yet, Miss Granger.” His voice is soft. Almost gentle. Hermione has never heard him speak this way. She turns around. Snape has moved behind his desk and is sitting down in the big leather chair. Hermione looks at him, but doesn’t say anything. “What is more important to you than your studies with me?” he asks. 

His voice is still soft, his face perfectly impassive. Hermione wonders if he is deliberately trying not to frighten her- by sitting down, putting the desk between them, by speaking so… gently. 

“It’s my friends, sir, they- no- we are having a DA meeting, Dumbledore’s Army, that is, to have a sort of memorial I guess.” It’s coming out all jumbled but Snape nods slightly, and motions for her to continue. So she plows on ahead, her words spilling out more quickly now, “It’s the only night Harry and Ron can come, and the kids – us- we’re all still raw from what happened, and, well, I just need to be there. I have to be there. I’m sorry, sir, I really am, but I don’t really have a choice, not really, it’s just- it’s the right thing.” Her eyes well up, and she is furious with herself. She HATES crying in front of Snape. She reaches up absent-mindedly with her sleeve to wipe her face-

Snape is on his feet, then, reaching toward her. Hermione flinches away from him dramatically, then sees the handkerchief in his outstretched hand. She takes it and wipes her tears with it. Then she holds it back out to him. He motions for her to keep it. She puts it in the pocket of her robes. Looks at Snape. 

His face is completely blank. “Three days,” he says. She just looks at him. “I will let you go tonight. You will serve three extra days detention. And the next time will be ten, Miss Granger. I warned you about the consequences of grading my papers well. You are dismissed.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Are you aware that at this very moment, Hogwarts students, Including the head Girl and your Precious Gryffindor Princess, are getting pissed on school grounds?” Snape’s tone is conversational, not accusatory, but the headmistress puffs up in her chair nonetheless. 

“If you are referring to memorial currently being held by the DA in the room of requirement, yes. The head girl informed me.”

Snape slumps down in the chair opposite the Headmistress and looks at her calmly. “Do you think it is wise to let them?”

“No,” replies McGonagall. “However, I think that it is right to let them.” She's pours him a glass of brandy and passes it across her desk to him. 

Snape prefers whiskey, but he takes the proffered brandy. “You sound like Albus when you say things like that.”

“Thank you dear,” says McGonagall. 

Snape snorts. “I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“I know,” she says. And then, “I am going to talk to Aberforth tomorrow about getting an anti alcohol detection charm on the portrait of Arianna. Tonight I’ll let it slide, but I don’t want the room of requirement to be reduced to a teen drinking hangout.”

Snape nods. Then, “Care to tell me how the board of governors meeting went?” He takes a long pull off his brandy, killing it. 

McGonagall wordlessly refills it. “Actually,” she says, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. It was… very odd. There was a lot of talk about ‘doing away with the sorting hat’ and ‘just letting the parents decide which house to place their children’ and so on.”

“Really?” says Snape, genuinely puzzled. “You’d think most of the lot would be perfectly happy to do away with Slytherin House.”

“Indeed,” says McGonagall. 

“Would you mind terribly if I joined you for the next meeting?”

“Please do, Severus, I’m really at a loss. But we haven’t really had a chance to talk about this. What are your thoughts?”

Severus sighs and takes another long pull his brandy. “I want to save Slytherin House, obviously. But Slytherin House doesn’t need saving from the likes of you, or a sodding hat. Slytherin House needs saving from itself. And I don’t know how to do that. And for that reason… I’ll support whatever you, and yes, a hat, decide to do about it. Honestly I’m just curious about this odd behavior on the part of the board of Governors.”

Snape and McGonagall discuss the board of governors, and the sorting hat, and the howlers for over an hour. By the end of the conversation Severus is very drunk and has half convinced himself that half the board are under the imperius curse, which he knows is ridiculous. 

McGonagall, however is aware of his increasing anxiety and misreads it as concern for the students. “Don’t worry about them, Severus. Harry and Hermione are with them. Neville, too. And Luna. No one is going to die of alcohol poisoning. Or have an orgy.” She chuckles at this, clearly a little drunk. 

Severus squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, Headmistress, for that delightful mental picture. It will be burned into my mind forever.” 

“Oh, loosen up you old prude. Speaking of which-” She sits up in her chair suddenly as if an idea has just occurred to her. “We should go visit them.”

“Visit whom?” asks Snape carefully. He can already feel that this is a bad idea. 

“The children, Severus! The children. We need to thank them for their sacrifice, and let them know that we are here for them.” She cuts off Snape as he tries to speak. “No! My mind is quite made up on this. Come, my boy.” She rises to leave. 

“Really, Headmistress, I must-”

“Shut up, Snape! You’re coming. You don’t have to say anything, and we won’t stay long.”

Snape groans inwardly and follows McGonagall out of her office. 

 

Hermione is pleasantly drunk, lying in a heap with (almost) every person she loves curled up around her. The room of requirement really outdid itself this time, providing the DA with a lovely circular room lit by hundreds of candles, and great big cushions scattered about on a thickly carpeted floor. On the walls hang the portraits of every person on the side of the light who died fighting in the war. The DA had simply gone around the room and thanked every portrait for their service, those who knew the person said a few things, and then they would raise glasses of firewhiskey or butter beer in a toast. By the end, they were all cried out and all quite drunk. They are curled up together on the floor now, speaking softly to one another. 

Hermione is so grateful to Ginny in this moment for putting it all together. She gets so caught up in the details, so caught up in her studies, and she knows she needs her friends to bring her back to what is important. What is real. She also knows that it was good for the younger kids to see them together- her and Harry and Ron- and okay. And to hear the three of them, the golden trio, thank them for their service to the light, and acknowledge the loss of their loved ones. The sheer number of dead children on the walls of this room makes Hermione ache with grief. And yet, as full as it is of grief, her heart is also full of love for every person in the room this evening. In this moment, at least, she understands exactly what it is they were fighting for. She is fiercely proud of what they have done, and fiercely grateful to be alive. 

“I love you guys,” she says, to everyone in the room. But before anyone can respond, the door opens. The Headmistress enters the room of requirement, with the Deputy Headmaster on her heels. Hermione is about to wordlessly vanish all the drink in the room under the cover of the commotion, but then the Headmistress speaks. 

“As you were, Ladies and Gentlemen. No one is in trouble today. We are just here to say a few words.” Hermione silently asks the room to provide soft armchairs for the Headmistress and Deputy Headmaster. The room obliges, also moving some of the candles to make room for them. Hermione sits up and gestures to McGonagall and Snape. 

“Welcome Headmistress, Deputy Headmaster, please sit down.” Some of the other students begin to sit up and face McGonagall and Snape. 

“Really, dears,” she says, “Stay right where you are. No need to move on my account.” McGonagall looks around the room and notices the portraits on the wall. “Did the room do that all on it's own?” she says, looking at Hermione. 

“It's the room of requirement,” answers Hermione.

McGonagall nods slowly. Then she clears her throat softly. “Professor Snape and I, on behalf of all the teachers here at Hogwarts school, want to thank you for your service to this school, and to the cause of the light. Also, we want to acknowledge what an extraordinary accomplishment this group is. How it was formed, and how all of you stuck together and upheld the principles of this school and of the light during a time of great darkness. During a time when the Ministry itself fell, during a time when the staff of this school couldn’t trust each other and couldn’t even protect you, during a time when Voldemort and his death eaters were threatening you, threatening your friends, threatening your families-- throughout all of that and more, you remained loyal to each other and loyal to this school and loyal to the cause of the light. 

“Professor Snape and I are proud of you. All of the staff at Hogwarts are proud of you. And all of Britain, and perhaps the world, both magical and muggle, owes you a great deal, whether they know it or not.

“Please, my dears - and I mean this - if there is anything we can do for you don’t hesitate to come to us. We are in your debt, and we are here for you. This is your school. Don't forget that.”

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape,” Hermione manages to get out. She is choked up, but for once, entirely unconcerned about the tears. 

“You’re welcome,” says Snape, and their is a collective intake of breath. 

McGonagall quickly speaks up to cover the silence. “And I will be speaking to Aberforth about installing an alcoholic detection device in the passageway from the Hog’s Head. Any students caught drinking in Hogwarts after tonight will be dealt with most harshly. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Professor,” the entire room choruses as she and Snape leave the room. 

Then Ginny speaks up. “Did McGonagall and Snape just come in here, tell us we're the best and to carry on getting pissed inside Hogwarts, and then leave?”

“Pretty much,” says Harry. 

“Wow,” says Ron. 

“I know,” says Hermione.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione spends Saturday morning nursing a hangover and the rest of the weekend catching up on her schoolwork. Still, when Monday hits, she feels behind. 

Monday night after dinner she spends grading papers and quizzes for Snape. If he is in his laboratory he doesn’t make an appearance. She is relieved, but also- to her surprise- a little disappointed. 

By ten fifteen she is settled into her desk frantically finishing her potions essay, and then correcting Ginny’s. Ginny never asks. Hermione just can’t help herself. She doesn’t crawl in bed next to her friend until almost four o'clock in the morning. 

Tuesday morning she has her toast and tea at the Gryffindor table like a zombie. She gets her portions paper turned in on time. Snape basically ignores her in class now. Hermione is too tired to put her hand up in class, anyway. Tuesday night she also spends grading papers for Snape. After she gets through the third year quizzes, she lands on the seventh year papers. Hers is on top, already graded, “You show a keen grasp of the subject matter at hand, and your new style of writing is pared down and precise. I should have made you mark papers years ago. Remind me to talk to you about your source materials- they are a bit lacking here.”

Hermione isn’t exactly comfortable grading the work of her peers, but Snape isn’t there, so she dives in. In the end, she finds it no more difficult than the sixth year papers, though she takes extra effort in mimicking Snape’s handwriting. 

At ten o'clock, she still hasn’t see her potions professor. She returns to her dormitory to study. Charms, this time. She has a test on Friday. She doesn’t get to sleep until after three. 

By Thursday, even Ginny isn’t talking to her. Hermione has dark circles under her eyes and her temper flares up at the slightest provocation. She knows she can’t keep this up, but she doesn’t see any other way without letting her grades slip. And Hermione, quite literally, will die before she lets that happen. 

After dinner, she puts her head down on the table for just a moment- to rest her eyes- and promptly falls asleep. 

In her dream, she's back in front of the Ministry of magic having just accepted her Order of Merlin First Class. All she wants to do is dissaparate back to the burrow, but there is a reporter following her, tugging at the sleeve of her robes. “Miss Granger,” the reporter says, “Wake up.” 

“Fuck off,” Hermione replies, tugging her sleeve away from the reporter. 

“Miss Granger!”

She lifts her head off the dining table in a daze, and looks up… right into the glittering black eyes of-- “Professor Snape!” she squeaks. “Oh my Gods, did I just tell you to-”

“Fuck off. Yes Miss Granger, you did.” Snape’s face is perfectly blank. He lowers himself down onto the bench next to her. 

“I was dreaming, Professor, I so sorry-”

“Obviously, Miss Granger. I'll let it go this time. I’m more interested in why you failed to show up for detention this evening.” His face is still oddly blank, but his black eyes don’t leave hers for a moment. She finds it very unnerving. 

“I fell asleep, Professor,” Hermione says quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”

“And tell me, Miss Granger, why were you so tired that you fell asleep in the great hall directly after supper?”

“I’ve been staying up too late studying, Professor.” Hermione says, looking down at her hands. 

“Look at me,” Snape says, as soon as she breaks eye contact with him. She looks back up into his face. She feels her eyes burning, but this time, dammit, she is determined NOT to cry. 

“You don’t have any free periods, do you Miss Granger?” She shakes her head. “And you’ve been spending your evenings grading my papers.” This, he says more to himself than to her so he keeps quiet. Snape hunches over the table and puts his face in his hands. The sight makes him seem so human it makes Hermione’s stomach clench. She almost wants to reach out and put her hand on his shoulder. Almost. 

Then in one swift motion he is on his feet, looking down at her. “Go to bed, Miss Granger. No more studying tonight-”

She opens her mouth to resist. 

“I mean it. I will ask you tomorrow if you went straight to bed and if you are lying I will know. Go.”

She claws her way to her feet. She looks up at Snape. “Ten more detentions?” she asks him. “You’re like a moneylender from a Shakespearean tragedy. Sir.”

Snape smiles at this, actually smiles for a moment. Hermione has never seen him smile before and the expression is so shocking to her that her mouth falls open in a comical little “O.”

That turns the smile back into a sarcastic smirk. “What, you think only muggle born know it alls read Shakespeare? No extra detentions, Miss Granger. Now go to bed.”


	10. Chapter 10

Friday evening Snape is waiting when Hermione let's herself into his office after supper. 

“Sit!” he says, and she takes a seat in front of his desk. She studiously avoids making eye contact with him.

“Bag,” He says, reaching his hand across the desk. When she just looks numbly at him he says, “Give me your book bag, Miss Granger.”

She hands him her purple beaded bag, which has been transfigured into a trendy leather shoulder bag with a bohemian fringe. It looks big enough to hold her wallet, some makeup and maybe a small journal. Obviously, Snape isn’t fooled. Her hand is trembling badly as she passes it across the desk to him. When his finger barely grazes hers as he takes it from her, she jerks her hand back violently. 

Snape sighs. He lays the bag down carefully on his desk, as if it might contain dynamite, or an erumpet horn. He looks up at Hermione. She looks close to vomiting. “You’re not in trouble, Miss Granger.”

“Okay sir.”

“Look at me,” Snape says to her. She looks at the collar of his shirt. “Look at my eyes, Miss Granger.” She looks up into his eyes and tries not to flinch. She feels better from her long night of sleep, but the close proximity to Snape is unnerving. Here, alone with him, close enough to see the mess of white scars at his throat from Nagini’s attack, she desperately wants to ask him how he has been since he left St Mungo’s. Is the nerve damage repairing itself? 

Snape breaks her inner monologue. “I am recovering well, Miss Granger, thank you for your concern. Now tell me- did you sleep last night as instructed?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione says, both angry at his intrusion on her privacy and grateful for his response. 

“For your information,” Snape says conversationally as he opens her book bag, “I don’t actually have to use Legillimency to hear your thoughts. They are very loud.” A look of complete horror creeps over Hermione’s face. He raises an eyebrow. He is tempted to chuckle, but restrains himself. She has already seen him smile once. If he's not careful with this girl, he will ruin ten years of a carefully constructed nasty reputation. “When you are caught up on your rest, your schoolwork, and my grading,” he offers, “I’ll give you a copy of my own writings on Occlumency. You should be able to learn, at the very least, how to stop broadcasting your annoying thoughts at me.”

Hermione moves forward in her seat unconsciously at this. She has always been jealous of Harry’s Occlumency lessons, even if they were from Snape. She had been trying to learn it by herself for over a year, but there didn’t seem to be much written on the subject. Nothing worth a shit, anyway. 

Snape gets her bag open and his eyebrows go up again. Hermione can’t help but smirk a little. The bag is an impressive piece of magic, and she knows it. Snape has his wand in his hand now. He waves it over the bag. He looks at Hermione. “Is there anything you don’t keep in here?”

“No, Sir.”

He uses his wand to summon her classwork and subsequent notes and reference materials. When the books fill up his desk they begin to stack themselves up on the floor. He watches the spectacle, face blank. Finally, all of Hermione’s study materials are out of the bag. 

Snape looks at Hermione. “Which subject are you the most behind in?”

“We have a test in transfiguration tomorrow on the laws of conservation of magical energy,” Hermione says, “I plan to start there tonight after detention.”

Snape nods and waves his wand, banishing everything back to her bag but the transfiguration materials. It is still an extensive stack. He finds her notes and begins to flip through them furiously. “Recite for me Grampf’s first law of elemental energy conservation,” he says, his eyes still on her notes. 

Hermione’s eyes just about jump right out of her head. Snape is going to help her study? Before he can become irritated again she quickly recites it. She misses one word, and he corrects her. Makes her say it again. 

Snape grills her relentlessly on the subject for half an hour. He not only makes sure she understands the laws and how to apply them to her spells, they also spend a good amount of time on the underlying mathematics of the governing principles. “You’re taking arithmancy?” he asks, before they get into this. She gives a curt nod. “Good,” he replies, “It really should be required at NEWT level. Otherwise the underlying theory can't be taught.”

“I know,” groans Hermione, “Think of all the witches and wizards out there running around using magic they have no theoretical grasp of. It's terrifying. Sir.”

Snape finds it difficult to keep his face impassive at this, but manages. He dives into the arithmancy with her before he starts grinning like a fool. 

“You shouldn't have any problems with your test tomorrow,” he says to her when he is satisfied with her responses. “What's next?”

“We have a paper due on the effectiveness of shield charms on brute force hexes on Monday, as well as a practical exam.”

“We will go over the theory, only. I do not want you performing complex spell work until you have fully recovered.”

“Recovered, Sir?”

Snape’s face descends into a deep scowl. Hermione sits back in her chair, visibly startled by the sudden change in his countenance. “You are under a great deal of mental strain, Miss Granger. Sleep deprivation only compounds the problem. Magic, specifically the casting of spells, draws energy from your inner core. Stress and sleep deprivation deplete your inner core. Have you even wondered why Defense Against the Dark Arts has always been your worst subject?”

Hermione nods. 

“The casting of offensive and defensive spells pits your core against the core of your opponent. Of course you need the training and technical skill to cast the spells. You have never been lacking in the skill. It is your core that is weak, because you yourself are constantly draining it with stress, sleep deprivation, and an alarming lack of self care.” His eyes are searing into hers, but her hunger for information, for his instruction, far outweighs her fear of him, and she does not break eye contact. 

“But, sir, respectfully, my best defensive spell work has always happened when we were under pressure, threat of death, really.”

Snape nods. “That kind of pressure grants you access to hidden reserves. The more determined you are, the more motivated you are, the more successful your spells. It is one of the reasons why your pet dunderheads are as successful as they are. Both Potter and his sidekick have powerful motivations.

“But- this kind of power won’t help you with everyday magic, which explains your failures in your practical Defense exams. So- no spell work until I am satisfied that you are rested, fed, and thoroughly de-stressed.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, thoroughly deflated. 

Snape begins drilling her on the shield charms, but after a few minutes, he stops. “You know all this Miss Granger. Why are you working yourself into such a lather? Your classes aren’t particularly challenging for you.”

Hermione shrugs. “Habit, I suppose.”

Snape points his wand at Hermione’s bag and summons a few of her personal notebooks before finding what he is looking for. “Ah,” he says, opening her color-coded study schedule. “Here it is, Miss Granger, a self made monument to your own insecurity. “ He runs his first long fingers across the rows of neat, color-coded notes. “When you adhere to this schedule, does it make you feel better?”

“Loads, sir,” says Hermione, feeling slightly ill watching Snape run his fingers over something that is so personal to her A dirty little secret of sorts. 

“Why?” he asks, flipping idly through the notebook. 

“Um… it makes me feel like I have everything under control.”

Snape snaps the notebook shut. “Exactly, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor.” Hermione’s mouth pops open. She doesn’t think she will ever get used to Snape giving her points, rather than taking them away. He smirks a bit. “My point here, Miss Granger, is that you are far from in control. When I found you in the great hall yesterday you were passed out at the dining table from sheer panic and utter exhaustion. Occlumency requires control, Miss Granger, as well as an organized mind. You have the organized mind, or, I should say, the aptitude to develop an organized mind. Control doesn’t come from a color coded notebook filled with your fears. Incendio!”

The notebook bursts into flames. “No!” Hermione cries, and lunges for it, trying to grab it away from Snape. She immediately regrets it though as her right hand blisters in one big second degree burn. 

Snape promptly vanishes the burning book and rounds on Hermione, “Sweet fucking circe, are you that fucking stupid?”

Hermione is breathing in and out trying not to faint, her burned hand held awkwardly in front of her. Snape steps around his desk and comes to stand in front of Hermione. He grasps the wrist of her burned hand in his left, ignoring her gasps of pain, and mutters a few incantations. Hermione watches in sick fascination as the blisters are replaced with healthy pink skin. 

“That's going to be tender for a few days,” Snape says. “Wait here.” He disappears into his lab and comes back with a vial of creme. Hermione holds her hand out for it, thinking he will hand it to her, but he unscrews the lid and instead of placing the jar in her hand, grasps her hand in his. She startles visibly. Snape sighs and begins to gently run the creme into the new pink skin of her hand. As he does it, he speaks quietly to her. He is using his gentle voice again, she notices. 

“You faced down the Dark Lord and dueled numerous Death Eaters, Miss Granger. How is it that you still shrink from me?”

Hermione finds it hard to put words together with Snape working the burn creme into her sensitive flesh. What he is doing feels absolutely divine, almost sensual, but it's Snape. She again finds herself feeling compelled and repulsed at the same time. “You are the most dangerous person I know, sir,” she says after giving it some thought. 

He gives her back her hand, then hands her the creme. “I am no danger to you, Miss Granger. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Noted, sir,” says Hermione. 

“Now,” he says, as he hands her bookbag back to her, “I have a few assignments for you. I want you to make up a new schedule. But this schedule should be the schedule you would make for yourself if you were in charge of your time and your curriculum. What classes would you take? What books would you read? How much leisure time would you allow yourself?” Hermione nods. “Also, you will attend Hogsmede with your friends this weekend, and you will not blow off the Dumbledore’s Army meeting. You will also try to refrain from spellwork as much as possible. You will be in bed before midnight tonight and tomorrow, and in bed by eleven Sunday night. Have I made myself clear? Do you understand the reason for my instruction, and why you are being micro managed?”

“Yes, sir, you have been clear. The reason is to recover my core, and you’re micro managing me because I’ve failed so spectacularly.”

Snape nods, apparently satisfied. “Correct, Miss Granger. You are dismissed.”


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione spends the weekend mostly as Snape has instructed. When she tries to sneak in a little studying, she is dismayed to hear her conscience sounding a lot like Snape’s voice. ‘You already know this stuff, Hermione, why are you going over it again?’

‘To make myself feel better,’ Hermione replies to her conscience. But she is beginning to realize the futility of the exercise. She sets aside her charms textbook and instead, starts in on the imaginary schedule that Snape has assigned her. 

On Monday, her practical exam in Defense is ridiculously easy. Her shields are stronger than they have been since she used them dueling death eaters in the war. She is smiling to herself as she makes her way down to the dining hall after class. She is turning so many new ideas around in her head, she hardly notices when the food appears in the serving dishes in front of her. She is thinking hard about the ramifications of her new revelations. 

The Gryfinndors around her are busy loading their plates with food while Hermione is lost in thought. Suddenly, her plate is loaded with chicken and potatoes and pudding, although she has made no attempt to serve herself. She glances instinctively up at Snape. He is glaring at her. When she catches his gaze, he motions to her to eat. Hermione blushes and turns away, but she picks up her fork. When she allows herself to glance back up from her food, Ginny is looking back and forth between her and Snape, looking thoughtful. 

 

Hermione finds Snape at his desk after dinner. “Good evening, professor,” she says as he motions for her to sit down. 

“Good evening Miss Granger. I trust you enjoyed your dinner?” He smirks at her. Hermione is floored. Snape is actually smirking at her. 

“I did, thank you, sir.”

“And you followed my instructions this weekend.” The way he says it is not a question. Can he really tell just by looking, Hermione wonders. “Yes, I can Miss Granger. You are looking much better. Almost human, in fact.” His writing on Occlumency can really not come too soon for her. 

“I agree, Miss Granger. It appears you are rested and fed. You did well in your practical exam today, which means your magical core is recovering from the abuse you have inflicted on it. You are caught up on your class work. Interesting how getting caught up didn’t actually require you to do any work, merely shift your perspective, eh?” Snape raises an eyebrow at Hermione. She blushes and looks down. “Eyes up, Miss Granger.” She forces herself to return his penetrating gaze. “Did you complete my assignment?” Hermione nods and gives him her make believe schedule. 

He spends several minutes reading it in its entirety. “Star gazing with centaurs? Unicorn taming with Hagrid? Portkey to Cambridge for molecular biology and organic chemistry? And why in names of all the gods would you want to take FOUR courses from me? Potions, Occlumency, Defense, and Alchemy? And how do you suppose I know anything about Alchemy?”

“A hunch,” Hermione says, shifting uneasily in her seat. She had almost put ‘Dumbledore’s ghost’ down for that, but had put Snape’s name down just to gage his reaction. It had worked beautifully. 

Snape chuckles. Hermione gapes at him. “Nicely done, Miss Granger. I am truly impressed. Twenty points to Gryfinndor for showing Slytherin-like qualities.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He snaps her fantasy schedule shut. “Now,” he says, “We need to talk about your real schedule. First, why are you taking divination? What career or apprenticeship would possibly require it?”

“None, sir, it's just that I won’t get the opportunity to study with a Centaur again. Firenze is starting to answer questions about Centaur history, and as you know, they don’t have any written histories. Also,” she adds quickly, “his lessons are really relaxing. We lay in the grass and look up at the stars. And he never assigns homework or gives us exams.”

Snape nods, apparently satisfied. “I can’t argue with the usefulness of the rest of your studies Miss Granger, especially when you obviously haven’t decided what exactly it is you are going to do after school.” He says this as a statement of fact, so she doesn’t reply, but Hermione is increasingly unnerved by Snape’s knowledge of the inner workings of her mind. 

“However,” he says, drawing her out of her thoughts again, “I don’t think your time is best spent sitting in all these classes. It is my opinion that you should continue to attend Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and continue to study the rest of your subjects independently. If any of your other professors balk at this, send them to me. All though, they can’t keep you from sitting the NEWTs merely because you didn’t attend their classes.”

“You don’t think I should attend your classes, Professor?” asks Hermione, horrified. 

“No, Miss Granger, I don’t. My classes are for dunderheads and idiots. You are neither. Use your spare time to study effectively instead of obsessively, grade papers and potions for me, and I will instruct you in private. We can cover a lot more material that way, hmm?”

Hermione is stunned into silence. She opens and closes her mouth a few times. 

“You will, however, have to find a way to get over your ridiculous fear of me. It won’t do you any good if spending time in close proximity to me drains your core.”

Hermione frowns slightly at this. “You’ve spent seven years terrorizing me, Professor, my fear of you is pretty ingrained.”

Snape waves a hand at this, dismissing it outright. “Wrong, Miss Granger, I have spent seven years being myself around you. Which is to say I have been vicious and surly. It isn’t personal, I assure you. And while I have been careful in my handling of you for the past week, if we are to work together over the coming terms I have no doubt I will continue to be vicious and surly. If you want to learn from me you must be able to endure me.”

Hermione takes a moment to consider, although she swears she can feel his impatience with her for an answer. ‘He must despise grading papers even more than he despises me,’ she thought to herself. Snape snorts aloud at this, but makes no comment. He waits for her answer. 

“Will you teach me Occlumency?” she says, after a long pause. 

“I will give you access to all of my personal writings and research on the subject, and answer any and all of your questions. I cannot, however, give you practical instruction. I am confident that you will be able to stop broadcasting your thoughts to me. And I can give you a promise never to invade your privacy by using legilimency on you unless your safety at risk.”

It is a good offer, but Hermione is profoundly disappointed. Especially because she knows that Harry got first hand instruction from Snape, although that, admittedly, had been an utter disaster. She wonders, errantly, if she can find another expert to give her the practical instruction she needs to master the subject correctly. 

Snape hears this, and the thought of Hermione letting another wizard root around in her head terrifies him. He almost breaks down and promises her the practical instruction. Instead, he tries to explain himself. “Miss Granger, you are an adult and as such you have every right to seek out instruction from whomever your please. But I implore you do not let another wizard or witch root around in your head. The results could be disastrous.” His expression is very frank, his flinty black eyes almost pleading with her. “I cannot give you practical instruction in the arts of the mind while you are still my student. It would be inappropriate for me to go digging around in your head. You aren’t stupid, I’m sure you’ve given this some thought, especially in light of what happened with Potter. The fact that you are still willing to let me violate your mind like that is, frankly, unsettling. I understand your thirst for knowledge, Miss Granger, I really do. But now that the war is over you might want to consider not taking unnecessary risks.” He looks at her with his stern professor expression. 

Hermione blushes under his gaze. But she doesn’t back down. “While I am your student?”

Snape sighs and shakes his head, clearly exasperated. “You have my permission to ask for my instruction again after you have taken your NEWTs.”

Hermione nods. She knows better than to push any farther. “I accept your offer. I’ll schedule appointments with the rest of my professors to explain why I am withdrawing from their classes. Now, can I get started on your papers? The sooner I complete the work, the sooner I can ask for your writing on Occlumency.”

Snape has to remind himself not to smile at this. He rises out of his chair and motions for her to take his place. “I forbid you to stay after ten o'clock Miss Granger. If you need anything, send that revoltingly cheerful otter of yours.” 

Hermione is grinning as she sits down at Snape’s desk.


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione adjusts quickly to her new schedule. It only takes her two days to obtain Snape’s writing on Occlumency. She is relieved to find it meticulously annotated when he quotes or refers to other sources. As she suspected, though, most of the content is original to Snape. Hermione had intended to simply read through everything for perspective before trying to actively learn any of the techniques, but when she comes to a section Snape has labeled ‘irregularities and inconsistencies’ she is immediately consumed with the implications of his findings. 

Apparently, even for an accomplished Legilimens, hearing the thoughts of another witch or wizard without actively deploying Legilimency is extremely rare. Snape is careful to note that it has never happened to him, and that from his research he can conclude that it only happens when there is an ‘extraordinary personal connection’ between the Legilimens and the witch or wizard that they are ‘hearing.’ 

Hermione is surprised by the care that Snape takes at this point, to note the ethical implications of hearing a person’s thoughts without their knowledge and consent. He makes it very clear it is the responsibility of the Legilimens to inform the person that they can hear some of their thoughts and teach them how to prevent it in the future. Considering the years that Snape spent at the mercy of two powerful, intrusive masters, Hermione finds Snape’s adamant thoughts on the ‘right to privacy of the mind’ particularly telling. She immediately sets aside the rest of Snape’s notes for later and begins the mind exercises that will, hopefully, put an end to their ‘connection.’

Snape has given Hermione unfettered access to his office and lab, and Hermione uses her free periods to grade his papers and evaluate potions. She sets herself a new, accelerated schedule to prepare for her NEWTs, focusing only on the areas she truly needs to study. After supper, she works in the lab with Snape. He has promised her that after she has mastered the NEWT material, they will move on to ‘more interesting’ things. She can hardly control her excitement. 

Hermione has been practicing the mental exercises laid out in Snape’s research for a week when he seems to notice a change. When they come to a pause in the brewing of a particularly complex potion, Snape touches Hermione’s hand briefly to get her attention. She doesn’t jerk back at his touch, and when she turns her face up to his he sees no evidence of fear. ‘Thank fuck,’ he thinks to himself. To Hermione he says, “Think of the worst insult for me you can come up with. Think it only, don't say it.”

Hermione looks up at her Professor and realizes she no longer despises him. In fact, she has grown rather fond of him. This thought makes her blush furiously, but Snape’s face remains impassive. 

“That must have been one hell of an insult to make you blush like that, Miss Granger, but rest assured I didn’t hear it. Well done. Fifty points to Gryffindor and you have my sincere thanks.”

Hermione’s relief is palpable. She lets out a big breath. “Thank you, Professor.”

“I’m going to ask you about that insult one day, Miss Granger, so please don’t forget it.” And before Hermione has the chance to dwell on the implications of that statement, Snape redirects her attention back to the potion at hand. 

Two nights later Hermione is stirring her very first batch of wolfsbane potion when she is nearly knocked off her feet by a stabbing pain in her gut. She gasps, but remains upright and doesn’t lose count of her stirring. It's just mother nature's gift, a few days early. But her periods have been incredibly painful since the war. She knows she needs to take a potion soon, or the pain will literally knock her off her feet. Unfortunately, the potion is in her beaded bag, which is lying on a table at least three meters away. She doesn’t think she can cast a summoning spell and continue to stir the potion correctly, and she absolutely refuses to ruin the potion. 

Another stabbing pain envelops her abdomen and she cries out, loudly. Snape is across the room in a second, catching her under the elbow of her left arm and steadying her before casting a stasis charm on the potion. Hermione’s knees almost buckle in relief as she sets down the stirring stick and picks up her wand, summoning the potion from her bag with a quick non-verbal spell. But Snape snatches it from her hand before she can unstopper it and gulp it down.   
“Please, Professor,” Hermione cries, in agony now, “I need that potion.” 

Snape ignores her, unstopping the potion himself and sniffing it delicately. Then he waves his wand in a complicated motion up and down the length of Hermione’s body, muttering a complicated incantation. A red glow appears over her abdomen. Wordlessly, he hands her the potion. 

Furious, Hermione gulps it down, and nearly collapses on the stool Snape has summoned for her. The unexpected gesture does nothing to ease her fury at the blatant invasion of her privacy. “You are my potions Professor, NOT my mediwitch, sir! You had NO RIGHT!” 

Snape summons another stool, lowers himself down across from her, and runs his hand through his hair. “Forgive me, Miss Granger, I was concerned.”

“No,” says Hermione. “That was an invasion of my privacy. There is no excuse that you could give me that could earn my forgiveness.”

Snape let loose a bark of sarcastic laughter, shaking his head. “Really, Miss Granger? After what you did to me, you want to lecture me about invading your privacy, violating your bodily autonomy?”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione says, clearly bewildered by the accusation. She is still trembling with anger. 

“Did you bother to obtain my consent at St Mungo’s?” he asks her, the words coming out in an accusatory hiss. “Before holding my hand while I vomited and shit and pissed my guts out in front of you? Don't you think that would have been hard enough for me to go through alone? Instead, I had to suffer every indignation of my affliction with a beautiful woman holding my hand!”

Hermione is overwhelmed with shame at this. Never, in all the time she spent at his bedside, has she considered the fact that her presence wasn’t welcome. She had been so overwhelmed with her own guilt she hadn’t even considered what it must have been like for him so suffer through with her watching. As her anger drains out of her, the guilt and pain and humiliation of what she as caused takes over, and pours down her face. 

“I’m s-sorry,” she sobs, “It was my fault! I overdosed you with the antivenin! I felt s-so fucking horrible. It was all my fault. I w-was so afraid, P-Professor. You were the biggest hero of the entire war and you didn’t have anyone and I just didn’t want you to suffer alone. I was so afraid. I thought you were going to die, and I didn’t want you to have to die alone. I was afraid, Professor, I’m sorry.” Hermione digs Snape’s handkerchief out of her pocket and wipes her nose with it, too upset to realize she probably doesn’t want Snape to know she's been carrying it around with her since he gave it to her. 

Snape sees the embroidered serpent on the handkerchief and something breaks inside him just a little. “There's nothing to forgive, Miss Granger. I know you meant well. And the pain that I endured was no fault of yours. You saved me, and I will forever be in your debt. But please, I beg you, forgive my intrusion into your privacy this evening. I, too, was afraid.”

Hermione is stunned by this pronouncement. “You were afraid, sir? Of what?”

“You aren’t prone to dramatics, Miss Granger. When you cried out in pain I was alarmed. Afraid. I should have asked permission before diagnosing you. In my fear, I didn’t. I’m afraid I am prone to overprotectiveness, especially when I am afraid.”

Seeing the concern on his face, Hermione can’t even remember why she was so angry to begin with. She sighs. “It's fine, Professor. I honestly don’t even know why I was so angry. You’ve done nothing but try to help me this term. Honestly, we seem to rub each other the wrong way all the time. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to put that behind us. “

Snape nods in agreement, rising slowly from his conjured stool. “Get some rest, Miss Granger. Please don’t come back into my dungeon until you are feeling better.”

Hermione nods and gets to her feet as well. “Thank you, Professor. I should be okay by tomorrow. The potion works wonders. But-” she hesitates, now, unsure of how to broach something personal with her Professor.

He looks at her politely, making no move to rush her from his presence, so she forges ahead. 

“Do you really think you owe me a life debt, sir?”

“I know I do, Miss Granger.” His frank honesty is both refreshing and jarring to her. 

“Is that why you-- why you are-” she struggles to find the words to describe what exactly he is doing for her. She doesn’t know what it is, she just knows it's a big deal. 

“No!” Snape says, quietly but very firmly. “I am giving you extra instruction and guidance for two reasons. One, because you want it, as made evidence by your proclamation to the Headmistress and myself. And two, you are exceptionally brilliant, and more than worthy of my instruction and attention. It's that simple. The fact that there is an unpaid life debt between us simply does not factor in.”

Hermione watches Snape’s black eyes carefully through his statement, and finds that she wants to believe him. But the imbalance of power makes her uncomfortable in the extreme. She knows what to do, though, thanks to her obsessive research of life debts after Harry saved Peter Pettigrew. 

Hermione takes her wand firmly in her right hand, and holds her left hand out to Snape in a formal gesture. The stunned look on his face would have been comical if the occasion weren’t deadly serious. Snape takes his wand out and grasps Hermione’s left hand with his. 

“Severus Tobias Snape,” says Hermione, in a soft but firm voice, “I am calling in the life debt you owe to me. Do you understand that you must do what I ask of you, or forfeit your own life?”

Snape’s face has gone perfectly blank, now. “I do,” he says, resolute. 

At his affirmative response, golden threads of light burst from the tips of their wands, curling and twining their way around Hermione’s and Snape’s clasped hands. 

“Promise me that you will never knowingly or willingly lie to me, for the rest of our natural lives.”

Snape face remains immovable, but inside he is crying and shaking and weeping in relief. “I swear to you, Hermione Jean Granger, that I, Severus Tobias Snape, will never knowingly or willingly lie to you, for the rest of our natural lives.”

When Snape finishes speaking the golden cords of light that bind their hands together begin to glow blinding in their brightness, and both Snape and Hermione feel the cords tighten around their hands. 

“Severus Tobias Snape,” says Hermione softly, almost wistfully, “I hold your life debt fulfilled.”

There is a blinding flash around their clasped hands, then, nothing.


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione stays out of Snape’s dungeon for a few days. She's feeling fine, physically, but she just feels like they both need some space after their emotional exchange. She is also conflicted out the ethics of the promise she extracted from Snape. She knows the difference between forbidding lies and asking for out right honesty, but still, she wonders if she has erred. Snape had seemed relieved, though he had tried to hide it. Considering she could have asked for anything- up to and including his own death, asking him not to lie to her seemed a small thing in the moment. Now, she isn’t so sure. She hopes, someday soon, she can ask him about it. For now, she just wants to create a comfortable, professional distance between them.

Outside Hogwarts, a veritable political shit storm is brewing over the dissolution of House Slytherin. A huge scandal erupts when over half the board of governors is found to be under the influence of the imperious curse. The culprit, of course, is never identified. 

To make matters worse, the remark that Hermione made to her fellow Gryffindors at the welcome feast somehow makes it onto the front page of the Daily Prophet, and of course, pandemonium ensues. 

Hermione finds herself back in Snape’s dungeon a few days earlier than she had planned just to escape from the ruckus caused by the article. Gryffindors slapping her on the back in the corridors in support, Slytherins hissing in green and silver packs and she passes them by- she finds herself running headlong into Snape’s office and slamming the door behind her with a shout of frustration. 

Snape looks up from grading papers. “That bad, Miss Granger?” he says conversationally. 

Hermione groans and takes her seat in front of his desk. “Please let me brew some polyjuice potion, Professor,” she says, “I just want to walk through this school without being cheered OR jeered.”

“Perhaps being quoted in the Prophet wasn’t the best idea?” he says. 

“Idea?” Hermione says. “As if I had anything to do with this?”

“The quote did sound like you,” he says. 

“Oh, I definitely said it,” Hermione says, “At the dinner table at the welcome feast. Not to the daily fucking prophet.” A look of pure horror crosses her face. “I am so sorry sir. Truly I don’t know what's come over me. Please forgive me.” 

“You’re forgiven. I’m still taking twenty points. I’m glad you’ve grown more comfortable with me Miss Granger, but I am still your Professor.”

“Of course sir, believe me, I’m mortified.” And she is. 

“I believe you. Now, are you here to relieve me of the tedium of grading?”

“Yes, sir,” she says. “I’ll have it done in no time.” 

“Good,” he says, rising up out of his chair. “I’ve got a batch of blood replenishing potion to do for Poppy, You can come help me if you finish before ten.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione says, and sits down quite cheerfully to the task of grading abysmal third year assignments. 

A few minutes before ten, she still hasn’t finished when Snape comes back into the office. Hermione looks up at him, her eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t managed to finish yet.”

He waves his hand dismissively, but he looks worried. “I’m concerned for your safety, Miss Granger. There has been some loose talk in the Slytherin common room.”

“Really?” replies Hermione, “What kind of talk?”

“Threats made against you,” he replies bluntly. “I have no doubt you can handle yourself, Miss Granger, but-” He trails off, as if uncertain how to broach something with her. 

“Sir?” she asks, trying her best to look unconcerned when she is anything but. 

“With your permission, Miss Granger, I would like to place a charm on you.”

“What exactly would it do?” 

“Two things. It will let me know where you are, and alert me if you are in real distress, or if someone attempts to use magic against you.”

Hermione raises her eyebrows at this. “Let us set aside the privacy implications for now, professor, but purely from a practical standpoint - I’m a teenage girl who attends a school of magic. I am in distress, and my friends cast spells against me, every day. How are we going to explain you popping up every time Ginny casts her bat bogey hex, or every time I get a little emotional?”

Snape smirks at this. “The charm is one of my own devising, Miss Granger. It won’t alert me every time you have a friendly duel in the hallway between classes. And it knows how to differentiate between an excitable adolescent and one whose life is being threatened.”

“And the privacy implications?” asks Hermione. “Do you really feel entitled to the knowledge of my whereabouts when I’m not with you?”

“No, Miss Granger, I acknowledge the charm will be a gross violation of your privacy. But given the nature of the promise I’ve made you, I can give you my word that I will not attempt to locate or otherwise spy on you unless I believe you to be under immediate threat.”

Hermione can’t doubt the honesty of his intentions after a statement like that. “Is there truly a credible threat against me, Professor?”

“I believe so, Miss Granger. I am… deeply troubled by the threat and its implications. Please believe me when I tell you I will be working night and day on my end to remove it.” Snape looks deadly serious, and Hermione believes him, of course. 

“Then I consent to the Charm, Professor, but- I have to warn you- I still suffer some pretty serious aftereffects from the war. I have nightmares that could set the charm off. I’ll need your assurance that you won’t come barging into my dormitory.”

“I’ll set some extra protection wards on your dormitory, Miss Granger. If the charm alerts and you are in bed, I won’t disturb you or your roommates.”

“Roommate,” Hermione says. “I live with Ginny in the Head Girl's room, sir.”

Snape nods, and then, before she can think of any other objections, quickly casts the charm on her.


	14. Chapter 14

It is nearly Halloween before Ginny realizes something is off with Hermione’s schedule. “Aren’t you don’t with those blasted detentions yet? I really need help with patrols. Extra Quidditch practices,” she says, by way of explanation. 

“Fuck, Ginny I am so sorry,” Hermione says. “Those detentions were over ages ago. I totally forgot about helping you with patrols. I can do one night a week, and as much weekends as you like.”

“Where have you been going every night after dinner?” says Ginny, and Hermione’s heart lands in her stomach. This is not going to go over well. 

“I’m studying with Snape.” Hermione says. 

Ginny just stares at her for a moment. “So, you no longer have detention, but- you’re still going to detention.”

“It's not like that, Gin. I’m doing his grading for him and in exchange he is tutoring me in Potions, Occlumency, and Alchemy too, soon, I hope.”

Ginny narrows her eyes. “You’re letting that greasy git root around in your head like he did to Harry? Does Harry know?”

“No, he is not rooting around in my head, and no, Harry doesn’t know. He isn’t giving me practical instruction in Occlumency, I’ve just been reading his papers and we’ve been discussing it.”

“Discussing. With Snape.”

“Professor Snape, Ginny.”

“Whatever! It's fucking creepy. I’m telling Harry.” Ginny glares at Hermione, as if she is daring her to forbid it. 

“Go right ahead, Gin, I’m not going to ask you to keep anything from Harry. You might not get the response you are hoping for, though. Harry doesn’t hate Professor Snape anymore either.”

Ginny plops down on the bed, all the fight going out of her in one breath. “I don’t like it, ” she says quietly. 

“I knew you wouldn’t, that's why I haven’t said anything… but honestly, Ginny, he's different then he used to be. He doesn’t bully me at all. He never calls me names. He just teaches me. And he’s- well, kind, for lack of a better word. And patient. Well, patient for Snape.”

Ginny is staring at Hermione. “You LIKE him!” Her tone is accusatory. 

“Yes, I do, Ginny, he's brilliant and brave and kind and he's been good to me. He’s teaching me things I can’t learn from anyone else.”

“No, I mean LIKE him,” says Ginny. “You know what I mean.”

Hermione gives a derisive snort. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Ginny pounces. “See? There? You even sounded like him!”

“Ginny, I am really happy. Can that be enough for you?”

Ginny considers this for a long moment. “Can I cast my bat bogey hex on him if he makes you unhappy?”

“Merlin, Ginny, he's not my boyfriend!”

Ginny just purses her lips and remains silent.   
“Okay. If he makes me sad, you can hex him. At your own risk. He's fucking scary.”

Ginny nods and that is the end of it.


	15. Chapter 15

Snape is inordinately pleased with the progress his protégé is making. She is blossoming under his direction, and devouring new knowledge at an alarming rate. He is also becoming more and more concerned for her well being. The matter of the threats made to her person still hasn’t been resolved, in spite of his best efforts, and he is becoming truly alarmed. Whomever is behind the threats is a serious opponent, and has taken countless steps to stay well hidden. 

And then there is the other matter. Hermione’s nightmares. The charm wakes Snape at least once, sometimes multiple times, per night. The charm, as Snape explained to Hermione, is not overly sensitive. Hermione awakens from sleep literally terrified for her life almost every night. Snape dutifully checks to make sure she is still in her dormitory before going back to sleep, sometimes only to be awakened again. 

He desperately wants to say something, to help her, but he has been ruthlessly denying himself. It is none of his business. It is information he shouldn’t even have. Hermione knows he is a Potions Master. If she wanted to, she could come to him for calming drafts and dreamless sleep. She could brew those potions for herself, come to think of it, in her sleep. The fact that she clearly hasn’t made any attempt to help herself is driving Snape insane with worry. 

To make matters worse, his worry is making him irritable and, combined with the lack of sleep, his impeccable self control in his lessons with Hermione begins to slip. He catches himself snapping at her, making snide comments, and generally being vile and arrogant. 

She handles it well at first, retreating into herself a little, but otherwise not acknowledging his change in temperament. But as the days creep closer to Halloween, and his temperament doesn’t improve, Hermione stops asking him her usual litany of questions. It's a relief for Snape at first, not to be bombarded with question after meticulous question about every fucking detail of every fucking step of every fucking potion. But when the questions stop, the quality and precision of her work falters. 

Two days before Halloween, Hermione is stirring a particularly complicated potion and her motion is ever so slightly off, causing a slight discoloration on the top of the milky brew. Snape sees the consternation on her face, and he is relieved that she has noticed the problem. But when she doesn’t correct it, he reaches out to grasp her hand and fix it for her, before the entire solution is ruined beyond repair. 

When his hand grasps hers, Hermione’s whole body jerks violently away from him. She drops the stirring stick, and it promptly disappears into the rapidly deconstructing potion. Snape knows a lost cause when he sees one and promptly vanishes the entire mess. Then he turns to his protégé. 

Hermione has put a full two meters between them. She is trembling like the whomping willow in a typhoon and making a heroic effort to get herself under control. She is frantically wiping the tears away from her face with Snape’s embroidered handkerchief, but they just keep coming. Her carefully constructed mental barriers have slipped as well, and Snape is getting a barrage of disorganized emotion from her usually meticulous brain. The overriding emotion is shame. She thinks this is her fault, he realizes. Fuck. 

Snape approaches Hermione carefully, conjuring up a stool behind her with a flick of his wand. She is gulping in big breaths, obviously struggling to get her weeping under control and failing miserably. When he is close enough to touch her, he places a hand on her shoulder and gently pushes her down onto the stool. She complies, but keeps her face buried in his handkerchief and refuses to look at him. 

Snape takes a corner of the soaked handkerchief between his thumb and forefinger and tugs. She lets him have it, but covers her face with her hands. He dries the handkerchief. 

“Hermione,” he says, in the softest voice he can conjure. “Look at me.”

Inexplicably, she does. ‘Why do I still want to trust him?’ Hermione thinks as she lowers her hands to her lap and looks up at Snape. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but it's a relief to hear that you do.” He takes her under the chin with the tips of his elegant fingers, and proceeds to dry her face with the handkerchief. When more tears spill onto her cheeks, her patiently wipes at those, too. All the while he is speaking to her in the gentlest voice he can manage. “I am a vile, repugnant man, Miss Granger. You’ve known that from the day I needlessly terrorized Mr. Longbottom just to make a point. I am also a bully, and a grouch. What happened today is not your fault. I am highly stressed at the moment, and I also haven’t been sleeping very well, as you may have guessed.” Hermione looks mortified at this. She's obviously put two and two together. 

“Also not your fault.” Snape says, reproachful of the new wave of shame he is getting from her. The tears keep coming. He keeps wiping, his fingers holding her steady and keeping her from turning away. 

“Your well being is important to me, Miss Granger, and as such I will endeavor to improve the deplorable way that I treat you. But- what's that muggle saying? Something about new dogs and old tricks?” This gets him a tiny smile from her, and his heart leaps in his chest at the sight of it. “Do you think you could try to meet me in the middle? I’ll try not to be an asshole. Can you try not to take it personally when I am?”

Hermione nods. The tears have stopped flowing now, to Snape’s intense relief. When he lets her chin go, he gets a wash of disappointment at the loss of contact from Hermione. It mingles with his own disappointment. 

“Miss Granger,” he says, still taking care to speak softly, “Can you stop broadcasting your thoughts now? I’d like to have a conversation with you about a sensitive subject- without invading your privacy any further.”

She nods and closes her eyes. He takes a seat in front of her and listens to her breathing deeply for several minutes. He literally can hear her putting her guard back up, her thoughts and emotions sound like a radio station fading out along an abandoned highway. He finds that he regrets the loss, is disturbed by that fact, and files it away for future thought. 

When Hermione’s thoughts are firmly her own again, she opens her eyes and looks up at him. He sits elegantly on a stool in front of her, his usually impassive face full of concern. His face isn’t handsome, but it is striking, and elegant, and, in Hermione’s opinion, beautiful when he isn’t sneering or scowling. She blushes a little and is glad she has her thoughts well organized and protected again. 

Snape watches Hermione open her eyes and look at him again. Her face is swollen and her eyes are red. But her expression is resolute and controlled. She is learning. It makes him proud. He raises his wand to her face, pauses, and is relieved when she doesn't flinch. He casts an anti-inflammatory spell. 

Hermione breathes out softly. “Thank you sir.”

“It's the least I can do,” he says. He watches her for another breath or two. Her gaze is still wary. Snape realizes it's going to take some time to make her feel safe again, and is furious with himself. “I want to ask you about your nightmares,” He says, finally, trying to sound apologetic. It isn’t a tone he usually takes, and he doesn’t know if he can pull it off. 

Hermione doesn’t like where this is going, but decides to let it play out. She can see he is genuinely concerned. “What about them?” she asks. 

“How long have you had them?”

“They started after my delightful vacation at Malfoy Manor,” she snaps, her eyes blazing a little. 

“I sorry that happened to you, Miss Granger. One of my greatest regrets of the war was that I didn’t get to kill Bellatrix myself. All though, I’ll admit, there's a certain poetic justice in Mrs. Weasley having done it.”

Hermione nods, but doesn’t reply. 

Snap continues his questioning. “Is there a reason why you aren’t taking anything to help you sleep?”

“Drug myself up?” Hermione snorts. “Yeah, I tried that. Calming draughts wear off too quickly and you can’t take dreamless sleep more than once a week. And anyway, they made me lose my edge.”

“So does not sleeping.” Snape says. 

Hermione shrugs. 

“I want to try and make you a different kind of potion,” Snape says. “If I am successful, will you try it? Once?”

Hermione nods. 

“Thank you,” says Snape, clearly relieved. “It's past ten, you need to go to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione says, smiling a little and getting up from her stool. Then, “Do I still look like I've been crying,”

“No,” says Snape, barely biting his tongue back in time to avoid adding, ‘You look beautiful.’ 

“Good,” says Hermione, “Because I told Ginny she could hex you if you ever made me sad.”

“You think I don’t know how to counter a bat bogey hex?” Snape says blandly. “Forgive me for not shaking in my robes. Get some sleep, Miss Granger.”


	16. Chapter 16

Feeling guilty about not helping Ginny as much as she should, Hermione volunteers to patrol during the Halloween feast. That is how she ends up wandering the castle corridors alone that evening. The first indication that something is not right is when she feels the tell-tale thump of a stunning spell hit her squarely between the shoulder blades. 

It doesn’t work. Her clothes are charmed to resist that kind of nonsense. Still, the force of the spell still sends here reeling. There is nothing playful about the way that spell was cast, Hermione realizes. She feels a small trickle of genuine fear as she regains her balance and turns around to face her attacker. Behind her, the corridor is empty. Then she feels something wet and cold press over her mouth and nose, and everything goes dark. 

She awakens in the dark. Her wrists are tied together over head. Her ankles are bound together. She is blindfolded. 

“What now?” she hears through the darkness. She recognizes the voice of a sixth year Slytherin. 

“Supposed to wait here.” says another male voice

“Don’t suppose he’d care if we had a little fun with her first, do you? Always wondered what the Gryffindor Princess looks like without all those clothes-”

“No,” says the other voice, “We wait.”

“C’mon, at least let me have a peek… “

Hermione feels the hem of her skirt being lifted up. Without much hope of it working, she opens her right hand and thinks, ‘Accio wand!’ with as much force as she can muster. She hears one of the boys yelp with surprise and then her wand is in her hand. 

“Reducto!” she roars, breaking her bonds. Then, “Stupefy!” 

Before she can survey the damage she has done, the only door to the room bursts open in a flash of green light. Hermione shoots off another stunning spell, this one nonverbal, hoping to surprise her attacker. 

He swats it away with an easy, graceful gesture. “Really, Miss Granger?”

“Professor Snape!” Hermione cries, bursts into tears, and throws her arms around him. 

Snape grunts as she hits him, quite hard considering her lack of stature, and puts his arms around her. “Easy, Miss Granger,” he says low and soft in her ear as he strokes her short hair, “It's over. You didn’t even need my help. How did you stun them?”

“Summoned my wand,” she mumbles into his chest. 

“Impressive, Miss Granger,” Snape says and he is. He tips her face up to his, so he can look in her eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner. I’m going to talk to the Headmistress about being able to apparate within the castle.”

Hermione nods. She doesn’t really care what he is saying as long as he keeps stroking the side of her face like that. It feels divine. 

“Now,” he says, and makes to disentangle himself from her grasp. She let's out a little growl of discontent, but steps obediently out of his embrace. 

“I need you to go finish the feast with your friends, Miss Granger. There can be no question as to your whereabouts while I do what needs to be done with these two, understand?”

Hermione’s eyes go wide. “Professor, you can't!”

“Can't what?” he asks, his tone dangerous and his eyes hard. “Torture them until they tell me what I need to know? I can, I assure you.”

“But you could go to Azkaban!” Hermione says, horrified. 

Snape snorts. “Give me some credit, Miss Granger. I know how to cover my tracks.”

“Please, Professor,” Hermione’s eyes are prickling with tears again. Ruthlessly, she forces them back down. 

Snape takes a step toward her, closing the gap between them. He puts his hand on her cheek. “Tell me then, sweetheart, what did they mean to do to you once you were tied up and helpless.”

“They were supposed to wait,” Hermione whispers so quietly Snape can barely hear her. “But... “ she trails off. 

Snape goes perfectly still, his right hand frozen against her cheek. His face is completely blank, his eyes are dull, hard chips of glass. 

“Run along to the feast now, Miss Granger. What happens next in here shouldn’t be witnessed by a child.”

“I’m not a child,” she says, trembling a little at his terrifyingly blank expression, not backing down. But at her remark his control falters and she sees several emotions dart across his face within the span of a breath- dark humor, pain, longing, guilt- 

Just as quickly his face is blank again. “No, I suppose you’re not, are you? Nevertheless I must insist.” He gestures politely to the door. 

Knowing a lost cause when she sees one, Hermione flees the room.


	17. Chapter 17

Snape is gone for the entire weekend. When she still hasn’t seen him by Sunday dinner, it takes all of her self control to keep from sending her patronus to check on him. On Monday morning when Snape doesn’t appear at breakfast Hermione breaks down and sends her otter. Then she sits glumly at the table, picking at her toast, too nervous to eat. 

The looks on the faces of her fellow Gryffindors sitting opposite her alert her to Snape’s presence behind her a moment later. She turns around in her seat to look up at him looming over her, delight and relief written on her face. 

“Miss Granger,” says Snape, sounding bored, “Come see me in my office after your breakfast, hmm?”

Hermione makes to get up but Snape puts a hand on her shoulder and gently pushes her back down on the bench. “Finish your-” he starts in, but doesn’t get the words out. 

Ginny is on her feel, wand drawn on Snape. “Don't you DARE touch her!” she shouts, so angry red Sparks fly unsummoned from her wand. Then, before Hermione can stop her, Ginny flicks her wand. A flock of bats pours from the tip and descends on Snape, flying around his face in a swarm. 

The dining hall has become completely silent. Everyone is too terrified to move, or even breathe. The only sound is the screeching and flapping of Ginny’s bats, flapping about Snape’s Head. 

Snape stands perfectly still, making no move to swipe the bats away, or even to banish them. Then he says, in a perfectly polite conversational tone, “How long must I let this farce continue, Miss Granger, so that your friend feels like she has sufficiently defended your honor and assaulted my dignity?”

“I think it's been long enough, Professor Snape,” Hermione says, feeling slightly nauseous. 

Snape makes an irritable gesture with his wand and the bats promptly vanish. He sets his gaze on Ginny. She quails. “How very Gryffindor of you Miss Weasley. So quick on the mark that you fail differentiate friend from foe. Fifty points from Gryffindor. Detention, all day Saturday, with Filch.”

Ginny nods and takes her seat. She doesn’t tremble, and she doesn’t break eye contact with Snape. Hermione is impressed. 

“Finish your breakfast, Miss Granger,” Snape says to her, the edge promptly fading from his tone. 

“Yes, sir,” Hermione says, and picks up her spoon. As soon as Snape exits the hall all of Gryffindor stands and applauds Ginny. It is a mark of their hatred from Snape that not one student grouses about the points. When Ginny reminds them of the Quidditch game she will be forced to miss on Saturday, though, their mood deflates a little. 

Hermione enters Snape’s office cautiously a few minutes later. He is seated behind his desk. She stops well across the room from him, waits for him to speak first. 

“Why are you standing halfway across the room quivering like a whipped dog, Miss Granger? Sit down!” Snape gestures to the seat in front of his desk. 

Hermione makes her way across the room and sits down. Snape raises his eyebrows at her. She realizes the question wasn’t rhetorical. “Ginny hexed you?” Hermione says, as if it should be obvious, “Sir?”

Snape waves his hand irritably. “You warned me. Besides, I shouldn’t have touched you so casually in front of that den of lions. I’m sure you will get no small amount of grief over that. Please forgive me, Miss Granger.”

“There's nothing to forgive, Professor,” Hermione mumbles, a little embarrassed. 

“Look at me, Miss Granger.”

Hermione looks up. Snape’s expression is blank. 

“What was so important this morning that you sent that ridiculous otter to track me down?”

Hermione reddens a bit more, but doesn’t look away. “I haven’t seen you since, well, I got worried.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m touched by your concern. As you can see, I am unharmed. Are you reassured?”

“What did you find out, Professor… After I left?”

Snape purses his lips and scowls a little at her. She looks back at him calmly. 

“I didn’t find out nearly enough, Miss Granger. Their memories had been tampered with. They only knew they were supposed to incapacitate you and then wait for someone unknown to them to show up.”

“Inside Hogwarts?” Hermione is shocked. 

“Yes,” says Snape, “That is what troubles me the most. I modified their memories and put tracking spells on them. When their master attempts to contact them again, I will know. And rest assured, they will be expelled when I have no further use for them. Until I get to the bottom of this, please be on your guard. No more patrols on your own, please.” He looks across the desk; his eyes are pleading with her. 

“Okay,” she capitulates. 

Snape breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Come, then, I have something exciting to show you.” He rises from his desk and goes to the laboratory door. He opens and door and stands aside, motioning her through it. 

Shocked at the courtesy, Hermione stumbles silently through the door. On the wooden table in front of her in Snape’s lab rests very old book. Ancient, in fact. Hermione reaches out toward it instinctually, then jerks her hand away. She glances back at her Professor. His expression is amused. 

“It won’t bite you, Miss Granger,” he says. “I’m not Hagrid.”

Hermione picks up the book and reads its title. “The Aurora of the philosophers by Paracelsus,” she reads aloud. Then, “Is this what I think it is, sir?”

“That depends,” muses Snape, “on what you think it is.”

Hermione opens the text. “An ancient alchemical text,” she breathes, barely above a whisper. 

“Five points to Gryffindor,” he says. 

“Where did you find it?” Hermione asks, unable to tear her eyes away from the book. 

“I paid a visit to Malfoy Manor this weekend,” he says, “They left me waiting in the library for over an hour. A not so subtle insult. But when I came across that, it was worth having to put up with Lucius’ pompous bullshit.”

This gets Hermione’s attention. She looks up at Snape, her mouth agape. “You stole a priceless artifact from Lucius Malfoy?”

“For you? Without hesitation!” He looks inordinately pleased with himself.

“Professor!” Hermione tries unsuccessfully to bite back a smile. 

“What? You want to study Alchemy, do you not? I can’t just go down to Flourish and Blotts and buy something like this, now can I? Oh, don’t look at me like that. Lucius didn’t even know what he had. And besides, he was lucky to stay out of Azkaban. When you’re done with that one, I’ll steal you another. He owes you.” 

Hermione doesn’t know what to say, so she just shakes her head. But she is still smiling. 

Snape is thinking that he would steal the Malfoy’s entire library to keep her smiling like that. 

Reluctantly, he turns to leave the lab. “I have a class, Miss Granger. Stay as long as you like. That book is yours, but if you prefer not to harbor stolen property, you can leave it here.”

“M- Mine?” she asks, stunned. 

“Yes, Miss Granger, I stole it for you. That makes it yours.” 

Before she can thank him properly, he is gone.


	18. Chapter 18

Hermione officially finishes studying for her NEWTs by the third week in November. Snape promises her they will revisit everything in the weeks leading up to the tests. But for now, he actually convinces her to set aside her constant revising, with the exception of transfiguration and Defense, and focus fully on what interests her. True to his word, he has procured two more priceless alchemy texts for her, although he refuses to divulge where he procured them. 

By the end of November, Snape has finished his work developing a new potion he thinks could prove helpful to Hermione. 

“Miss Granger, come here,” he beckons her over to a corner of his lab one evening. 

She casts a stasis spell on the potion she is brewing and makes her way over to him. He is decanting a potion into a glass vial. The potion is viscous and dream-like, and he is concentrating very hard. She takes the opportunity to study him rather intensely. It isn’t the first time she has done this. She's been doing it every chance she gets since Halloween. 

Snape is carefully decanting a dose of his new creation into a glass vial when he feels Hermione looking at him again. She's been doing it for a month, now. Every time she thinks he can’t see, she is studying him with a furious intensity. She is also being absolutely meticulous about keeping her thoughts to herself. That skill of hers, once a great relief to him, is becoming increasingly irritating. When it started, he couldn't make heads or tails of why she was staring all the time. The few times he has simply turned around, or looked up, and caught her, her expression has always looked slightly puzzled, as if she can’t quite make out what she is looking at. 

She stops next to him as he finishing decanting the dose. She stands elbow to elbow with him at the table, looking down at the glass vial in his hand. He turns to face her, and when he does she tips her face up to his. They are nearly touching. Where Hermione used to avoid his personal space, always standing as far away from him as she could, now she seems to revel in it. 

Snape isn’t completely unselfaware. He knows he is inappropriately attracted to Hermione, and castigates himself constantly because of it. He’s never truly had a reason to be concerned, though. Not until now. As vile a man as Snape knows himself to be, he would never willingly violate that sacred trust between teacher and student. It's one thing to know for certain that he would never cross the line with Hermione, nor with any student, but he has never had to ask himself what he would do if SHE crossed the line with him. Until now. 

Impossible as it seems, Miss Granger is showing every sign of being attracted to, and maybe even infatuated with, him. 

Snape raises the glass vial between them. “I think this may help with your nightmares. Would you try it for me?”

“What will it do?” she asks, taking it in her hand. Her small fingers brush his long tapered ones as she takes the vial. The sensation of her fingertips on his skin, even just for the stretch of half a breath, is invigorating. He keeps his eyes on her face to watch her eyelids fall closed for just an instant when they touch. He is not the only one so affected. 

“It will activate when you become afraid, and turn your nightmare into a lucid one. With a little bit of practice, you should be able to either change the dream so it is no longer frightening, or just wake yourself up.”

Hermione looks down at the glass vial in her fingers with unabashed longing. “Really?” she asks Snape. “It sounds too good to be true.”

“Yes, well, it might be. And because you will only be the second human to ingest it, I want you to spend the night in the infirmary tonight where I can observe you.”

“The infirmary?” she asks. “Why can’t I just stay here?”

‘Because I am not a monk!’ he wants to scream at her. Instead, after a quick intake of breath at the suggestion, he gives her his fiercest scowl. The one that used to have her on the edge of tears. Now, she just gazes back at him serenely. Sometimes when he scowls or snaps at her, she has the audacity to giggle. 

“That would be highly inappropriate, Miss Granger. Madam Pomfrey was scandalized enough when I mentioned that I wanted to watch you sleep all night.” 

She shrugs, as if the indecency of what she is proposing doesn’t bother her in the slightest. “Okay. Infirmary it is, then. Meet you there at midnight?”

“Outside your dormitory, Miss Granger. I will escort you up to the infirmary.” He takes the glass vial back from her, careful not to let their fingers touch this time. “Go get ready for bed. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. 

He walks her out, as he has gotten in the habit of doing, opening both doors for her until they are in the corridor outside his office. He then casts a shield over her, and reinforces the tracking spell. The shield will only last about ten minutes, but it will prevent anyone from using magic against her or even touching her, as she and Ginny found out one night the hard way. 

“Straight back to your room,” Snape says to her in his stern Professor voice. But Hermione is smiling up at him, not even bothering to pretend to be even a little bit afraid. Cheeky brat. 

“Goodnight, sir!” she calls out behind her as she takes her leave. 

‘So you say,’ thinks Snape, as he slinks back into his lair.


	19. Chapter 19

Hermione has been coming to uneasy terms with her crush on Snape for awhile now. The first time she watched his elegant hands decanting potions ingredients and wished that he would caress her like that, she had freaked out, faked an emergency, and left the lab. Now, almost a month later, she's either with Snape, or fantasizing about Snape. 

Hermione dresses in warm flannel pajamas, a bathrobe, and slippers for her sleepover with her potions Professor. When she steps out from behind the portrait, he is already waiting for her. Snape gives her a once over, nods curtly in approval, and sets off down the corridor without a word. Hermione has to nearly run to keep up with his long stride. Which is hard in bunny slippers. 

She is out of breath by the time they reach the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey is waiting for them. She has made up a bed for Hermione. “Alright, dear,” she says, “In you go.” 

Hermione removes her robe and slippers and crawls into bed. Snape conjures a comfortable chair and pulls it up next to her. He sits down, adjusting his robes and making himself comfortable. All the while madam Pomfrey is hovering over them, concern and disapproval mingled on her face. 

Snape just ignores Poppy, hands Hermione the vial of dreamlike clouds. “Drink,” he says. 

Hermione takes it from him, unstoppers it, and tips the contents into her mouth. It tastes slightly peppery, but not unpleasantly so, and has the consistency of a souffle. She swallows the whole thing in one gulp and passes the empty vial back to her professor. 

“Does it taste bad?” he asks her. 

Hermione shakes her head. 

“Good,” he says. “You’d be surprised how many people won’t take a perfectly effective potion because it tastes bad.”

Hermione nods. 

“When you become afraid in your dream the potion should activate. You will then become aware of the fact that you are dreaming. When that happens, you have a choice. You can try to change the course of the dream, or you can wake yourself up. I suggest waking yourself up for now. The most effective way I have found is to squeeze my eyes shut in the dream and then open them as wide as I can.”

Hermione nods, wondering how she is going to be able to sleep with Snape sitting next to her all night long. She feels a wave of exhaustion then, and yawns. 

Snape gives her an apologetic half smile. “I put something in there to help you fall asleep, just for this time. I thought you might be a little wound up.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione says, already drifting off to sleep. 

Once her breathing has evened out, Snape casts several charms on Hermione to monitor her heart rate, breathing, blood pressure, brain activity, and temperature. 

“Let me know if her vitals change,” Poppy says to him before leaving. “I’ll come check on her in a bit.”

Snape nods, opens a book in his lap, and settles in for the night. Once Poppy has left the room he casts several privacy spells to alert him when she returns. 

Every night, Hermione is back at Malfoy Manor. Every night, she's tries desperately to escape. Every night the death eaters find her. Tonight is no different. She runs frantically from room to room, looking for a way out. She can hear them closing in on her. She looks around for a place to hide. Then a peculiar sensation overcomes her. She looks around her and says aloud, “This isn’t right. None of this is right.” Then, “I’m dreaming. Snape gave me a potion. I need to wake up and tell him it's worked.” Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, takes a deep breath, and opens them as hard as she can. 

Snape has moved from his chair to the edge of her bed. He is bent over her, one hand on each side of her. Hermione opens her eyes and finds herself staring into Snape’s black gaze, his faces inches from hers. He is so close she can’t help herself. Before he can lean back she puts her arms around him and buries her face in his neck. 

The thought that he should refuse her embrace is a moth trying to fly through the hurricane of emotion Snape feels when Hermione is in his arms. It flutters helplessly for a breath before being torn apart as Snape sits up, gathering Hermione firmly against him. 

“Thank you,” she says into his neck, “It worked. Thank you.” The sensation of her lips moving against his neck makes it impossible for him to reply, so he just holds onto her. 

Hermione is experiencing a feeling of relief so profound it feels like an existential epiphany. The relief of escaping from her nightmare, compounded with the relief of finally being in Snape’s embrace is so overwhelming she can barely breathe. They are sitting up in her bed now and he is holding her tightly against him. His five o'clock shadow is rough and real against her cheek. He smells like spicy incense, and when she speaks against his throat, he tastes like salt, and cinnamon, and something dark and familiar she can't quite identify. 

It takes every shred of self control Snape has left to disentangle Hermione from his embrace. “No!’ she protests as he has to grab her hands in his and unwind them from around his neck. “It feels good.”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “Too good.” He puts on his stern Professor expression and tries to stare her down. When that doesn’t work he stands up and moves back to his chair. The look of disappointment on her face almost breaks his heart wide open. He also starts getting a wave of longing from her. It mixes and mingles with his own hollow desperation for her touch, and almost drives him right back into the bed with her. 

He closes his eyes. “Get your thoughts organized, Miss Granger,” he says quietly. 

“Why?” she asks quietly. 

“Because I am still your professor, Miss Granger.”

For a moment she looks as though she will challenge him. He gets a wave of consternation and hurt feelings from her before she slams her guard back up. 

“Tell me about the dream,” he says gently, and she does. 

Snape sits quietly for the rest of the night, watching Hermione sleep. On the outside, he is a stone. Inside, he is a hurricane of conflicting emotion. Up to this moment, despite his attraction, he hasn’t allowed himself to fantasize about her. Now that he has felt her soft curves pressed into his side, her lips on his neck, he doesn’t have the willpower to resist the images any longer, and they flow unchecked through his mind. He wonders how many more times he will be able to turn her down.


	20. Chapter 20

Snape uses the success of the potion to teach Hermione how to write an academic research proposal. It takes them a few weeks to get the paper written and enough of the potion produced, which Snape has named ‘Lucid Dream.’ By the time they have the paper completed the the potion ready to ship to St Mungo’s for trials, Yule is almost upon them. 

Hermione has reluctantly agreed to spend the holiday at Grimmald Place with Harry, Ginny, Ron, Fred, and any other stragglers from the DA that show up. But she isn’t looking forward to spending the time away from Snape. She did ask Snape about remaining at Hogwarts over the holiday, but he was quite adamant about her spending the time away from him. The rebuff had hurt her feelings, of course. 

Two days before Yule she asks him one more time. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay for the holiday?” she asked him while they were cleaning up from a particularly difficult few hours of brewing. 

A long silence stretches out between them. Hermione thinks he may not answer at all. Snape straightens up and leans against a table. He folds his arms over chest and looks at her, his face like a stone, the way it has been since the night in the infirmary. 

“Of course I want you to stay, Miss Granger.”

“Then why are you making me go?”

“You’re a grown woman, Miss Granger, I can’t make you do anything. I’ve asked you to go because I think it will be good for you to spend the holidays with your friends. And, more importantly, because I am not a monk, and if I wish to remain employed at Hogwarts, I don’t think I should spend the holidays in an empty castle with you.”

Hermione blushes a deep scarlet at this, but holds his gaze. Snape’s stone facade breaks a little when she turns red at his comment and he gives her his best predatory look. Her mouth falls open in a little “o” and it takes all the self control he has not to kiss her surprised mouth. 

Snape takes pity on them both, then, crossing the distance between them and taking Hermione in his arms. He cups her head gently against his chest and allows them both a moment to breathe each other in. 

“Why does this have to be so hard?” Hermione mumbles into his chest. She hears a low rumble in his chest in response, and she realizes he is chuckling softly. Before she can be offended, though, he bends down and kisses the top of her head. 

“You won’t be my student forever, Miss Granger.” He straightens up and, reluctantly, disentangles himself from her. “Enjoy the holiday with your friends. If not for your own sake, then do it for mine, and theirs.”

Hermione nods, unable to speak, her head swimming with the ramifications of what he said. ‘You won’t be my student forever.’

Snape’s words carry Hermione through the winter break on a cloud of happy, hopeful longing. Her friends all agree she looks much improved from the summer, and when she mentions Snape’s new potion, the grumbling is minimal. 

Christmas eve, after much frivolity, Harry finds Hermione tucked into the library with an enormous book on her lap. 

“What a surprise,” Harry says when he finds her. “This is a party, Hermione.”

“I listened to Seamus’ stupid jokes for an hour, Harry. Now I just want to read.”

“A Hogwarts owl came by looking for you,” Harry says, dumping a small package next to her on the chaise. 

Harry can’t help but notice the way Hermione lights up as she picks up the package. “Who’s it from, do you reckon?”

“Snape, I’m assuming,” Hermione says, holding it against her, but making no move to open it. 

“Snape’s sending you Christmas presents now? Since when?” Harry is a bit incredulous. 

“Since we became friends, I suppose. Really, Harry, it's not a big deal. It feels like a book. He probably just wants me to get ahead on whatever he has me studying next.”

Harry looks slightly mollified at this. “How is he, anyway?”

“Snape?” Hermione says, “He’s as well as can be expected, I guess. Physically he seems fine. It's impossible to get him to talk about what's going on in his head, though. But- he’s not as grouchy as he used to be, at least not when it's just us. And I’ve actually seen him smile and heard him laugh. Not often, but, it has happened.”

“Huh,” says Harry. “Snape laughing. It's hard to picture.”

“I know. Sometimes I still feel like pinching myself.”

“Well, since you obviously aren’t going to open that with me here, I’ll get back to the party.” Harry makes it to the door. Then he turns back. “And Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“Hedwig is in my room if you want to send a reply.”

“Thank you Harry,” Hermione says. As soon as the door closes behind Harry she tears the package open. Inside are three things. A handwritten note, a sealed envelope, and a book. She reads the note first:

Miss Granger- I hope my note finds you well, and that you are enjoying the holidays with your pet dunderheards. Enclosed please find a quite famous book by Nickolas flamel. While it isn’t really about alchemy I think you will find it worth your time. I have also enclosed a sealed letter. Do not attempt to open it. Keep it safe and I will tell you when the time is right. Please keep yourself safe. I look forward to your return. Yours, Professor Snape. 

 

Christmas morning Snape reluctantly makes his way up to the great hall for breakfast. He is just now sobering up from a night of Ogden’s. He looks around the table at all the cheerful faces and wants to vomit. He realizes he has changed his mind, but just as he is about to leave a great white snowy owl swoops into the great hall, drops a small package on his plate and swoops out. 

“Was that Hedwig?” asks McGonagall, clearly confused. Snape gives her a surly stare. 

“Potter's Owl.” 

Snape examines the package and sees it is from Hermione. “Yes,” Snape replies, “Potter's owl.”

All conversation has ceased at the table, and all eyes are on Snape and the package he is holding. “It's from Miss Granger,” he says, as if that should explain things. 

“Well, open it!” cries professor Sprout. “Merlin, boy, I don’t think I've ever seen you get a Christmas Present from a Gryffindor.”

The whole table has a laugh at this. Snape sees no option here but to open the package. He dearly hopes the gift isn’t too personal. In the package he finds a note, a sealed envelope, and an oblong box wrapped in cheerful paper. He reads the note first. 

Professor Snape- I hope this letter finds you filled with holiday spirit. Thank you so much for the lovely book, Enclosed please find your present (I hope it will be useful when you have to start grading your own papers once again). Also please find enclosed a Christmas card from everyone here at Grimmald place. I have to warn you- they were all very drunk and Fred was involved, so open it at your own risk. I, too, am looking forward to my return to Hogwarts. Yours, Hermione Granger

Snape is relieved to find Hermione’s letter above reproach. And then, because he knows they are all dying to hear it but too polite (or afraid) to ask, he reads it aloud to the Hogwarts staff. McGonagall nearly chokes on her tea when he reads the part about being ‘filled with holiday spirit.’ When he gets to the end, they all encourage him to open her gift. 

He does, and when he realizes what it is, he actually cracks a genuine smile. “It's a quill that only writes insults,” he says, and they all have a good laugh as it is passed around the table. 

When the quill makes its way back to him he holds up the sealed Christmas Card like its a stick of dynamite. “Wands to the ready,” he says, and tears it open. 

There is a loud *crack* and the entire table is showered with confetti. Then, the card hovers, open, above the table. A perfect hologram of the kitchen table at Grimmald Place appears on top of the open card, and Snape can see many of his old students clustered around it. 

“Happy Christmas Professor Snape!” they are all shouting, every single one of them clearly inebriated. “You may still despise each and every one of us,” says a drunken Neville, “but we don’t care. We love you!” 

In response to Neville’s remark there are many “That's rights” and “Hear Hears!” He can see Hermione has her face down on the table at this point. Ginny’s figure, seated next to Harry’s, stands up and says. “I’m sorry I hexed you, Professor. But if you make Hermione cry I’ll do it again! Oh, and- Happy Christmas.”

Harry’s figure stands up last. It raises a little glass toward Snape. “Happy Christmas, Professor,” Harry says quite formally. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for Hermione, and, well, uh, I’m sorry for what happens next.”

Then the card explodes with a Boom, and the entire great hall is plunged into absolute darkness.


	21. Chapter 21

“Peruvian instant darkness powder? Really?”

Hermione sits down in the chair opposite Snape’s desk. “Hello, Professor Snape. How was your holiday?”

“Dark,” Snape says.

Hermione snorts. “Come now, Professor, I warned you. How bad was it?”

“I opened it on Christmas morning in the great hall in the presence of the entire staff of Hogwarts.”

Hermione bursts out laughing. “How long?” she asks.

Snape shrugs. “It dissipated quickly enough. My colleagues were highly amused.”

“I’ll bet.” Hermione says. “And you? Shall I tell everyone you enjoyed your card?”

“Please don’t encourage them, or I will have to send thank you notes using the quill you gave me. Thank you for that, by the way, I can’t even remember the last time someone sent me a truly useful gift. It works flawlessly.”

“You haven’t been grading with it already, have you?” Hermione says, clearly horrified.

“No Miss Granger. I got pissed Christmas night and spelled the quill to write letters to every person I know. I haven’t laughed so much since James Potter got his head stuck in the loo in our fourth year.”

“Professor!”

Snape is smiling at her, really smiling, It completely transforms his face. Hermione’s heart catches in her chest a bit.

“Speaking of the Potters,” Hermione says, “Harry asked about you at Christmas.”

Snape’s eyebrows go up. “In what way did Mr. Potter ask about me?”

“He wanted to know how you are, sir.”

Snape seems to relax a bit. “And what did you say?”

“I have to admit I was at a bit of a loss for words, Professor. I’m used to telling Harry everything, but I know you value your privacy. So, I just said I thought you were okay. And that I had actually seen you laugh a few times.”

Snape nods thoughtfully, his face a mostly impenetrable mask. “I will never ask you to lie or keep things from your loved ones, Miss Granger. But you are correct that I value my privacy. I appreciate your discretion. And- the card was funny.”

Hermione just about jumps out of her chair in excitement at this admission from Snape. “Can I tell them you said so? Please, sir.”

Snape nods indulgently. “You may, Miss Granger.”

“Thank you!”

Snape leans forward, places his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers under his chin. He puts his scary professor look on his face. “I have something to ask of you in return, Miss Granger.”

“Sir?”

Snape frowns for a moment and doesn’t say anything. Hermione realizes he is searching for words. It is very unlike him, and it makes her distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’ve never been a good man, Miss Granger,” he says finally. “In the Wizarding world, those of us with enough talent and discipline live mostly above the law. There aren’t many rules I feel compelled to adhere to, do you understand?”

“Like the rules against torturing Hogwarts students for information, Sir?”

Snape snorts. “Use that brilliant brain for a moment Miss Granger. Why would I torture them when I could simply lift what I needed straight out of their heads?”

“Oh,” says Hermione softly.

“Oh, Indeed.” Snape says affectionately, before resuming a more formal tone again. “I don’t really recognize or respect authority, not really, with one exception. I respect this school. What it represents, and the good it accomplishes. It is important to me. Above all, the safety of my students is important to me.” He pauses here and gives Hermione a most severe look. “Do you care about my well being, Miss Granger?”

“Yes!” Hermione says, stung by the question. “Of course I do.”

“I know you do,” Snape says, more gently. “And that is why I am asking for your help. I need you help with this. I’m not a Saint, Miss Granger. I’m not even a good person. If you push me hard enough, I will give in to you, do you understand?”

Hermione’s eyes are wide. She nods dumbly. “I’ll do whatever I can, Professor. We are still going to continue my instruction, right?”

“Of course. That is the point, is it not? I’m not asking you to go back to being terrified of me. I’m just asking you to keep your mind organized and refrain from touching me. Hmm?”

“Okay,” she says softly.

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” says Snape, relief evident on his face and in his voice. “Someday you will understand how much this means to me, I promise. Now, come into the lab. We have work to do. And I’d like to hear all about your vacation.”

“You would, sir?” Hermione says, surprised.

“If it is about you, I want to hear it.” Snape thrusts a pile of belladonna root in front of her, and hands her a small silver knife. “Start chopping, and start talking.”

So she does.


	22. Chapter 22

Snape is inordinately pleased with himself. His plan is working. As long as he keeps Hermione engaged intellectually AND personally, he doesn’t have to witness the hurt feelings, longing, and rejection in her face. It is her longing for him, her loneliness, that threatens to destroy all the boundaries he is so carefully maintaining with her.

So he is learning to engage her with conversation. And in the process of keeping her physically at bay, he is also learning about Hermione. Her fierceness surprises him. And she has a dark edge to her. It engages a part of him he has been suppressing ruthlessly for a long time.

He doesn’t ask about her parents. Or about what happened in Malfoy Manor. He wants to. But he can't bear the thought of not being able to hold her when she cries. So he is waiting until the time is right to touch on those things- and others.

Snape is also really piling the work on Hermione. And not just as a ploy to keep her tired and distracted. Her mind is young and relatively uncluttered. With his careful micromanagement of her, Snape is keeping it that way. Every time they prepare ingredients or do other drudge work that requires little concentration, he encourages her to chatter at him. It helps her keep her thoughts organized, and helps him understand what makes her tick. She is logical to the point of insanity until it comes to her friends. With them she is insanely illogical.

When he points this out to her she only smiles. “Love isn’t supposed to be logical, Professor, surely you know that.”

‘How does she suppose I know anything about love?’ Snape muses to himself, but lets it go. There are things he isn’t ready to talk about either. At least not sober and fully clothed.

He also keeps tabs, rather inappropriately, on her sleeping, eating, and socializing habits. When he sees her slipping in the area of self care, he is most severe with her. Sometimes her eyes flash at this meddling, but she never fights him on it, always obeys. Her blind obedience worries him, but he files that away with everything else that he can’t broach with her in their current arrangement.

At first, Hermione doesn’t think she will make it to spring without being able to touch him. But while their (proper) relationship lacks in physical affection, she can’t help but delight in Snape’s apparent interest in every tiny facet of her life. So she obliges him, for the most part. He is also heaping the work on her at an astounding rate, and micromanaging her life to an infuriating degree. She chafes a little at this at first, but when he points out how effective his management is, she really can’t argue. So she relents, lets him have at it.

And in the midst of an astounding number of theorems, potions, and equations, spring arrives. The whomping willow has turned a glorious shade of electric green, and has already killed at least four birds attempting to nest in its branches- and that's just the ones Hermione has personally witnessed.

As the month of April draws to a close, Snape wraps up the advanced alchemy and arithmancy with Hermione. He also takes back his red ink bottle. For the next month, he plans to do nothing but help her revise for her NEWTs. He knows how much the tests mean to her. And, if he is honest, Hermione’s NEWT scores are important to him, too. Snape has never taken a protégé before. But the word is out, at least in the realm of Wizarding intellectuals, that he has finally done so. Hermione’s scores will reflect as much on him as they will on her.

Snape gives her the NEWT study schedule he has prepared for her on a Friday night. She looks it over in detail for several minutes before looking up at him.

“There’s surprisingly little time spent actually studying, professor.”

He nods curtly. “And why do you think that is, Miss Granger?”

“I’ve already learnt it all, haven’t I? This is just a month to refocus on the NEWT material and, more importantly, tend to my core?”

“Twenty points to Gryffindor,” Snape says, managing to look both genuinely pleased and genuinely sarcastic at the same time.

“Careful, Professor,” Hermione teases. “You don’t want Gryffindor to win the house cup simply because you like me.”

“You don't give me enough credit, Miss Granger. I always make sure to take the points away from other students. And I most assuredly don’t make a habit of fondness for insufferable know-it-alls.”

“You keep track of the points you give me so you can detract them elsewhere?” Hermione is incredulous.

“Yes. And you would do well to remember that. I am a Slytherin, Miss Granger, as much as you like to romanticize otherwise.”

Hermione shakes her head, turning back to the schedule in her hand. Next Monday after lunch he has penned in: ‘watch the whomping willow kill birds (weather permitting).’

She points this out to him. “How did you know?”

“What?” Snape says, “That you take pleasure in the deaths of innocent creatures? I didn’t until I emerged from my dungeons this spring to observe the phenomena, only to find you on my favorite bench laughing yourself silly. So you watched the willow and I watched you.”

Hermione’s stomach does a little flip. It does this so often now she barely takes notice. “Why ever didn’t you join me, sir?”

Snape looks at her, his expression suddenly gone very dark. ‘because some days I can’t allow myself within arms reach of you, for fear of violating your innocence, the school's trust, and my own ethics in a matter of moments,’ Snape thinks to himself, staring down at her.

And Hermione hears it, a snarling, aggressive, animal voice in her mind. And with the thought comes a veritable hurricane of emotion, first of which is a lust so powerful she has to grab ahold of his desk to steady herself.

Snape watches Hermione gasp and steady herself against his desk. He realizes in horror that somehow, and he doesn’t have any idea how, but somehow he is broadcasting thought and emotion to her. He immediately occludes, but he can see the damage has already been done, and he is weeping inside.

‘Miss Granger,” he croaks out. “I have no idea how that happened. Please understand you were not meant to hear that thought.”

She nods her head, but she won’t look up at him.

“Hermione, please,” he says.

She looks up. Her face is stricken. “Are you angry with me, Professor?”

“No,” he says, quite vehemently.

“It felt angry,” she says, and Snape notices she is trembling. He breaks down at the sight of her fear and reaches a hand out across his desk. She stares at it for a moment. He means for her to hold it, but instead, she bends down and lays her cheek in his hand.

Snape strokes her hair with his other hand, and tries to gather his thoughts. “That wasn’t anger that you felt, although it was an emotion just as destructive. There is a reason why thoughts and feelings are meant to be private, Miss Granger. Part of that reason is to prevent moments like this.”

“I understand that, really, I do, but- I still felt what you felt and- I don’t want you to feel that way. Not because of me.”

Snape runs his thumb across her eyebrow. “You let me handle my own emotions. Right now you need to be concentrating on your NEWTs.”

Hermione nods in his hand, and then, without thinking about it really, turns her head and presses her lips against his palm. He lets out a frustrated hiss in response. Hermione realizes she has erred, and tries to lift her head out of his hands, but Snape grabs a fistful of her hair at the back of her neck quite forcefully, and she finds she can’t move her head. She gasps in pleasure, and is immediately mortified by the sound coming out of her mouth.

Then, just as suddenly, he lets her go. She sits up, dazed, and immediately tries to apologize to him.

He cuts her off fiercely. “No! Do not ever apologize for your feelings, or your desire. You are entitled to both.” He glares at her until she nods. Then his face softens. “And they are precious to me,” he says. “But now you see for yourself why we cannot touch.”

Hermione nods.

“Enjoy your Hogsmede weekend, Miss Granger. On Monday we will start preparing you for your NEWTs. With a desk between us.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione says, and flees the room.


	23. Chapter 23

Ginny and Hermione are walking arm and arm to Hogsmede. Spring is really outdoing herself this year, and Hermione is almost giddy with happiness. She longs to tell Ginny the truth about Snape, but she knows better. Ginny has a temper. It wouldn't end well for Ginny or Snape.

“Zonko's or Honeydukes first?” asks Ginny.

“Whatever,” says Hermione, “I’m just along for the ride.”

“Honeydukes, then,” says Ginny. “Zonko's is a joke compared to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”

“Har Har,” says Hermione, “I see what you did there.”

Afternoon finds them sipping butterbeer at the Hog's Head with Aberforth, and some of Dumbledore’s Army. When Neville and Luna show up, though, Hermione gets a little nervous. She has succeeded in keeping a low profile after the disastrous article in the Prophet. Luna has been after Hermione for a quote, but Hermione has promised Snape she won’t do anything else to put herself in more danger.

So when the party gets noisy, she slips quietly out onto the street, unnoticed. She is on her way up to the three broomsticks when a third year Hufflepuff boy comes pelting around the corner from Madam Puddifoot’s and barrels right into Hermione.

“Carefully now,” she says, gently steadying the boy.

But the boy seems frantic, if a bit disoriented.  
“Please, Hermione. They’ve got my friend in the shrieking shack!”

“Who has your friend?”

“The Slytherin boys. Please, come help!” he is tugging at her arm frantically.

Hermione frowns. _How stupid do they think I am?_ She is offended at the obviousness of this set up. The boy just keeps repeating himself. Imperiused, more than likely. Which means this is a serious threat to her safety.

She raises her wand and points it at the boy, “Finite Incantatem.”

It doesn’t work. Well, it was worth a try. Hermione thinks her happy thought. I won’t be his student forever. A bright silver otter bursts from her wand. She sends it to Snape with a message. ‘They’re here for me. Shrieking shack. Come as quickly as you can.’

“Okay, I’m coming,” Hermione says to the increasingly agitated boy. “What's your name?” she asks him as they begin to make their way up the hill and out of town. She is walking as slowly as she can.

“Arbuckle,” says the boy. “But you can call me Arby.”

“Well Arby,” says Hermione, “I am sorry you got pulled into this. Did you know that you can resist the imperius curse?”

The boy jerks away from her, his face twitching a bit. Then he turns to Hermione, “Please, they have my friend. You have to come.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth his body stops twitching and his face relaxes again.

Hermione smiles sadly at him. “That was a good try, Arby. Don’t worry. I’m coming with you.”

The boy smiles, and continues to lead Hermione up the hill to the shrieking shack. Hermione walks as slowly as she can. As they approach, she can hear the voice of a small boy inside, screaming in pain. Arby is more urgent now, almost dragging her toward the shack.

There is a soft *pop* and Snape appears in front on them by the gate. Hermione sees the palpable relief on his face when he lays eyes on her.

Arby gapes up at Professor Snape, and draws his wand.

“Don't hurt him he-” Hermione starts.

Snape twitches his wand three times in quick succession. Arby is disarmed, stunned, and petrified.

“-is under the Imperius curse.” Hermione finishes, looking down at poor Arby.

Snape conjures his patronus. Hermione does a double take. It is not a doe, but a raven. Snape sends it off with a message for McGonagall. All the while they can still hear a boy's screams coming from the shrieking shack.

“Go back to the castle,” Snape tells Hermione. “I’ll handle this.”

“What?” Hermione says. She has already drawn her wand. “No. I’m coming with you.”

Snape considers his options carefully. He can’t stun or petrify her and leave, she would be at risk. He can’t place her under the imperius curse without risking Azkaban, and she would likely throw off the curse, anyway. He is tempted to wait here with her for McGonagall, but the screams sound pretty genuine, and McGonagall would probably want Hermione’s help anyway.

“Stay behind me,” he says, “And do exactly as I say.”

Hermione conjures her shields as they enter the shack. Snape casts Homenum Revelio as soon as they are inside the door. There are four men inside. No screaming Hufflepuff boy.

As Snape and Hermione make their way down the hallway and into the main room they are immediately set upon by three wizards. Snape tries to keep Hermione behind him, but she's not about to let him duel three by himself. She steps out from behind his billowing black teacher's robes and starts throwing out stunners. One of them finds its mark. Snape grunts in approval. One of the remaining two, seeing his comrade go down, panics and shoots off a killing curse toward Hermione. Snape counters it and then, almost lazily, flicks his wand back at her attacker. A jet of green light streams from his wand and the man falls to the floor, lifeless.

Hermione doesn’t have time to register that her potions professor has just murdered someone in front of her. They turn together to face the third Wizard. He is dirty, pudgy, balding and missing most of his teeth. He raises his wand in defiance toward them, but before any spells are cast, the fourth man comes into the room.

Hermione stares. She knows this man. He is younger than his lackeys, with shoulder length brown hair. He wears plaid pants, dragonhide boots, and a pink scarf. The scarf belonged to her, once.

“Scabior,” Hermione hisses. “Why aren’t you in Azkaban!?”

“Tsk, Tsk, little lioness,” he says. He is speaking to Hermione, but his eyes never leave Snape. She can tell he wasn’t expecting her to bring help at all, much less someone as dangerous as Snape. “Turns out the world still has need of a snatcher. There are a few old families that would like it very much if you were… Snatched. Only this time, no Greyback to keep me from enjoying you first. What do you say, ol’ Snapey, have you taught her how to suck Slytherin cock like a good little mudblood?”

Surprisingly, Snape does not react to the vulgar comment, obviously meant to goad him into making a mistake. Scabior is a halfway decent duelist, and Snape knows it. Snape is being cautious. He could take care of Scabior and his dirty accomplice easily enough, but having Hermione in the room complicates things. She is his only weakness.

Scabior pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering briefly to his ugly friend. Then, at some unknown signal, they both attack at the same time. Simultaneous bolts of green light shoot from their wands.

Snape deflects the fat Wizard’s curse easily enough. The force of the deflection stuns the ugly wizard and he crumples to the floor. But Snape knows he doesn’t have time to deflect both. As he deflects the first killing curse, he calmly steps in front of Scabior’s curse, and takes it squarely in the chest.


	24. Chapter 24

Hermione awakens in the infirmary at Hogwarts.  The first thing she notices is that she is wearing pajamas. The second thing she notices is the moon, round and full, peeking through the window across from her bed. The third thing she notices is Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall making their way quietly over to her from another bed.  Hermione’s eyesight is fuzzy; the two witches are going in and out as they approach her bed. 

 

McGonagall sits down on the edge of the bed and takes Hermione’s hand.  “Hermione, dear.  How are you feeling?”

 

_ That depends.   _ “Is he dead?” she asks.  Her voice is hoarse and crackly.  

 

McGonagall turns to Madam Pomfrey. “Why does she sound like that?”

 

“I didn’t realized she had damaged her voice, “ replies Madam Pomfrey.  “Must have been the screaming.”  Madam Pomfrey points her wand at Hermione. 

 

“Stop,” Hermione croaks.  The fog is starting to lift and she is getting agitated.  “I am of age and I am revoking permission for you to treat me.”

 

Both McGonagall and Pomfrey just stare at her. 

 

Hermione feels in her pocket and then looks around her hospital bed.  “GIVE ME MY WAND, “ she says, with as much force as she can muster. 

 

McGonagall nods to Madam Pomfrey who promptly scurries off, looking very upset. 

 

Hermione turns back to McGonagall.  “Is he dead?”

 

McGonagall frowns and won’t meet her eyes.  

“You can tell me now, Headmistress, or I can force it out of you when I get my wand.  The choice is yours.”

 

McGonagall gasps at the threat.  Wordlessly, she points to a figure lying prone on a bed a few rows down from Hermione.  Madam Pomfrey is scurrying back across the floor of the infirmary, Hermione’s wand in hand. 

 

Hermione throws back the covers and sits up, holding out her hand for her wand.  Both witches watch her with baited breath when as she wraps her fingers around its familiar shape.  Then Hermione stands up and, only wobbling slightly, makes her way over to Snape. He’s breathing.

 

Hermione let's out a sob of relief and sinks to her knees next to his bed.  McGonagall is there next to her as she falls to the ground, holding her, and Hermione lets her. 

 

“He hasn’t woken up yet, dear, and we don’t know when he will.  But physically, he’s fine.”

 

“How?”  asks Hermione. 

 

“Well, we don’t know what kind of curse knocked him out, so-”

 

“It was the Killing Curse,” Hermione said. 

 

McGonagall and Pomfrey are stunned into silence.  Hermione pulls herself to her feet.  “So, we don’t really know if he's going to wake up, do we?”

 

“But how?” asks Madam Pomfrey. 

 

“Severus researched many curses for Voldemort and Dumbledore both.  Perhaps he discovered a way to counter the curse,” says McGonagall, not really believing it but unable to come up with a more probable explanation. 

 

“How are his vitals?” asks Hermione. 

 

“Fine, dear,” says madam Pomfrey.  “Physically, there is nothing wrong with him.  My plan of treatment is to give him two days to awaken on his own before trying any number of stimulant portions and spells.  But for now, I think, it's best for him just to rest.”

 

“And Scabior?” Hermione says, still looking down at Snape.  “What became of him?”

 

There is an awkward silence. 

 

“I will NOT be treated like a child,” Hermione says quite forcefully.  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

 

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall says gently.  “Do you not remember what happened?”

 

“The last thing I remember is Professor Snape stepping in front of the killing curse, and then falling,” Hermione says, the horror still fresh in her voice. 

 

“Scabior was killed by more than fifty deep lacerations all over his body, probably the result of ‘Sectumsempra.’  We assumed it was Severus, given his penchant for that particular curse.  But if he was struck down by Scabior’s killing curse…”

 

“Then I must have done it,” Hermione says quietly.  “And the fat one?”

 

“The, uh, other attacker also received deadly lacerations.”

 

“Pity,” says Hermione.  “I would have liked to interrogate them.”  She takes Snape’s beautiful hand in hers, marveling at his long, elegant fingers.  “His vitals are being constantly monitored?” she asks, never looking away from him. 

 

“Yes,” says Madam Pomfrey.  “If they go outside normal parameters I'll know about it.”

 

Hermione nods curtly.  “I’m going to stay with him tonight.  I’ll send my otter if we need anything.”

 

The headmistress and the mediwitch back away from Snape and Hermione, exiting the infirmary quietly. 

 

“Have you ever been spoken to that way by a student before, Headmistress?” asks Madam Pomfrey. 

 

“No,” replies McGonagall. 


	25. Chapter 25

Hermione sits on the edge of Severus’ bed, holding his hand in both of hers.  Time and space have ceased to exist now; her entire being is in stasis waiting for him to awake.  She moves slowly, as if she is underwater, as if they are in a dream, to touch his face.  She runs her fingertips along the stubble on his jaw, traces his thin, dry lips with her thumb.  She runs her fingers through his soft hair, inky black shot through with grey.

 

“I don’t know where you are,” she whispers, “But I bet it's nice.  You aren’t feeling any pain now.  You aren’t being tortured by unfulfilled desire.  But I don’t care, Severus.  I need you here.  I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

 

But he doesn’t move.  He just keeps breathing, soft and light, his chest rising and falling gently.  She pulls back the sheet and slips into bed beside him.  She marvels at how easily and comfortably her body molds to his.  She tucks herself in between his right arm and body, head on his shoulder.  Her right hand, still clutching her wand, rests on his chest.  His cheek is close enough to kiss, but she doesn’t dare.  Lulled by his steady breathing, she quickly falls asleep.

 

Severus is swimming in the black lake.  It's peaceful here.  The only sensation he has is the feeling of the water, neither hot nor cold, on his body.  He cuts through the depths of the lake without effort.  He finds he doesn’t even need to breathe.  The easy sensation is pulling him downwards, into the depths of the lake.  He feels compelled to swim ever deeper into the comforting blackness.  

 

But then he hears a voice.  It sounds very far away, but it is a lovely voice.  He knows that he should recognize the voice, but he just can’t.  Everything but the comforting blackness of the lake seems very far away now.  But while every part of him wants to sink deeper into the abyss, the voice tugs at his heart in his chest.  It is the voice of a lovely young woman in despair.

 

“Severus.”

 

He hears her says his name.  He turns away from the black depths of the lake and begins to swim furiously to the surface.  He doesn’t know why, but he has to get back to that voice.

  


Snape awakens in the infirmary.  He doesn’t notice that someone has dressed him in his favorite flannel pajamas.  He doesn’t notice the full moon, which is now high above the castle.  He only knows that Hermione is pressed up against his right side, her curly brown head resting softly on his shoulder.  Her right hand, still clutching her wand, rests on his chest.  She is sleeping.  

 

Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he works the wand loose from her fist and places it on the bedside table.  Then, turning into her, he gathers her even further into his embrace.  He exhales one big shuddering breath, and buries his face in her hair.

 

Hermione awakens again, in the infirmary.  She doesn’t notice her pajamas, or the moon, now high in the sky over Hogwarts.  She only knows that Severus is awake, that he is gathering her up into his arms, kissing her hair.

 

“You came back,” she says into his chest, Her voice harsh and scratchy.

 

“I heard you,” he says, his hand cupping her face.  His thumb strokes her cheekbone and she gives a little moan of pleasure. Now that the shock of what has happened is passing, she is becoming increasingly aware of what it feels like to be pressed against his lean body.  She feels herself being overcome with a deep ache of desire, and feels a pang of fresh guilt.   _Severus doesn’t want this to happen here._

 

Reluctantly, she sits up.  Snape doesn’t protest, although she can see the longing in his face.  

 

“I’m going to send my otter to Madam Pomfrey and the Headmistress.  They will want to know that you are awake.” she says, reaching for her wand.  

 

He nods.  After she does, she gets up off the bed.  Snape catches her hand in his.  “Thank you, Miss Granger,” he says, and she hears a world of meaning in those words.  

  
“You’re welcome, sir,” she replies.


	26. Chapter 26

“I hesitated,” says Snape.  McGonagall and Pomfrey have been fussing over him for more than half an hour.  Now, finally, Madam Pomfrey has left them alone, and Professor McGonagall has asked Snape what happened. 

 

Hermione is burning with guilt and shame for the way she spoke to the Headmistress earlier, but she knows this isn’t the time or place to begin reparations.  After offering to give McGonagall and Snape privacy, and being told to stay, she sits quietly on the bed next to Snape’s. 

 

“I hesitated,” he says.  “And then I panicked. I’ve never been in a duel standing next to someone who’s life I value more than my own.  It changed the rules of engagement, and made me hesitate.  The killing curses were cast so quickly, and in that small space, I barely had time to react.  I admit, I hoped one of two things would happen.  Either I would die, and my sacrifice would protect Miss Granger from further harm, or I would live, and be able to defeat them.”

 

“Why did you even think there was the possibility that you could live, Severus?”  McGonagall asks the obvious question, incredulous. 

 

“The Dark Lord had me researching ways of resisting the Avada Kedavra.  I made some progress on the subject, which I never exposed him to, for obvious reasons, the first of which being that he would want to test my theories.”

 

McGonagall’s eyes just about bug out of her head at this point.  “But this knowledge- it could be used to protect so many innocents-”

 

Snape cuts her off, shaking his head.  “It would only protect a select few, at the detriment to others.  Swear to me you will not reveal what I am about to tell you. For any reason.  Both of you,” he says, looking back and forth between McGonagall and Hermione. 

 

“I swear,” says Hermione. 

 

McGonagall hesitates.  

 

Snape stays stubbornly quiet. 

 

“I swear, under the condition that you will listen to any and all my arguments for revealing what you have discovered from now until the day I die.”

 

“Agreed,” Snape says, and continues.  “Avada Kedavra is different from other spells meant to do harm in that it causes immediate brain death without any evidence of physical harm.  It is, I believed and now know, a psychological spell, not a physical one. That is why it gets through most shields, and that is also why it can be resisted by a powerful Occlumens.  Do you really want the entire Wizarding world trying to learn Legilimency and Occlumency?  Consider the privacy implications.  Also, consider the fact that only a very powerful Occlumens can shield enough to withstand the effects of the killing curse. I am the most accomplished known Occlumens in centuries,” Snape says without the least bit of conceit, “And it still almost killed me.  That, and the fact that Occlumency can be powered by both light and dark energy equally.  If we allow this information to become public, it will create an entire generation of dark megalomaniac mind reading wizards that can’t be killed.”

 

McGonagall and Hermione are both silent.  What is there to say? 

 

Snape turns to Hermione.  “How did you deal with Scabior and his ugly friend?”

 

Hermione looks at her hands.  “I don’t remember anything that happened after you were hit with the Killing Curse, but the headmistress told me Scabior was killed by over fifty deep lacerations all over his body, probably caused by Sectumsempra. The ugly one was killed by lacerations, too, although he was likely unconscious at the time.”  She says it all in a monotone.  She doesn’t look up. 

 

“Miss Granger,” Snape says softly, “Look at me.”

 

McGonagall’s eyes bug out her head again.  She has never heard Snape use that tone with anyone.  She didn’t not know he was capable of speaking so.  

 

Hermione looks up at him.  His face is filled with so much compassion for her she starts to cry.  She feels in the pockets of her Pajamas.  No handkerchief.  She feels a great wave of despair threatening to overtake her.  She turns to McGonagall. 

 

“Please, Headmistress,” she says, tears running down her cheeks.  “Where are my clothes?”

 

“You were covered from head to toe in blood, Miss Granger, we had them incinerated,” she explains, not understanding the meaning behind Hermione’s question. 

 

At the loss of Snape’s handkerchief, Hermione has reached her limit.  She curls up on the bed and begins to sob uncontrollably.  

 

At the sound of Hermione’s sobbing, and the barrage of self flagellation coming from her head, Snape reaches his limit.  He checks his own pockets.  Finds an embroidered Slytherin Handkerchief.   _ Bless McGonagall and Poppy.   _ He sits up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed.  He stands, sways badly.  Steadies himself on the bedside table.  Hobbles to Hermione’s side.  Sits down next to her on the bed. 

 

McGonagall, completely at a loss as to what to do, simply observes in a state of suspended disbelief. 

 

Hermione is curled into a tight ball, sobbing violently into her hands.  Her whole body is shaking, and she is quickly hyperventilating.  Snape gently pulls her hands away from her face, breathing a sigh of relief when she lets him.  He spells the handkerchief to dry itself and then starts to methodically mop up the never ending stream of tears.  

 

He strokes her hair with his other hand, and starts to speak to the thoughts streaming from her head unchecked.  “You are not a bad person, you are one of the best people I know.”  And, “No, I’m not going to Azkaban for casting a killing curse.  I did it to save you, the entire Wizarding community of Britain would tear down Azkaban stone by stone if I was locked up for protecting you.”  Then, “You’re not evil, sweetheart, you snapped under the strain of watching me die in front of you and the darker side of your nature emerged, unchecked, and both defended you and took revenge simultaneously.  I will teach you how to ensure that it doesn’t happen again, but no one is going to blame you for what happened.”  Finally, “You said what to the Headmistress and Madam Pomfrey? You are going to have to work hard to prove your contrition, Miss Granger.  But Professor McGonagall loves you, and she has forgiven me for much worse.”

 

The tears are slowing now, and her body has stopped shaking. She has unwound from her fetal position and wrapped herself around him.  She is breathing more slowly. 

 

McGonagall is aghast.  “Professor Snape, are you performing Legilimency on a distraught student?”

 

“No, Headmistress.  Miss Granger broadcasts her thoughts to me weather I want to hear them or not.  I have taught her to occlude enough to keep her thoughts private, but it requires concentration on her part.  She isn’t capable of occluding at the moment.  I answer her thoughts to let her know I can hear her.”  Snape pauses, cocks his head to the side.  “There, she's put her blocks back up.”

 

McGonagall doesn’t know what to say.  She just looks back and forth between them. 

 

“She does feel horrible about threatening you, Headmistress.” Snape ads.  

 

McGonagall dismisses this.  “We'll deal with that later.  Right now you both need to rest, and I have to formulate a plan to keep the ministry off our backs.  Don’t worry about Shacklebolt.  I can deal with him.  At some point, though, you will have to speak with the ministry.” 

 

Snape nods.  Hermione has stopped crying now.  Snape removes his hands from her hair and face and turns to face his boss.  “Go ahead and ask,” he says. 

 

“Do you have an inappropriate relationship with Miss Granger?”

 

“Yes,” Snape says.  “We have grown emotionally intimate in a way that is entirely inappropriate in the context of Hogwarts.  Physically, what you have just witnessed is as far as it has gone.”

  
McGonagall nods, her face a mask.  “We'll talk more on that later.  Our first obstacle is the Ministry.  One battle at a time.”


	27. Chapter 27

Hermione looks at the Headmistress, sitting across from her at the huge desk.  For someone who has spent the last two days dealing with a gruesome murder scene, putting out fires, and keeping Hermione and Severus out of Azkaban, she looks remarkably calm. 

 

“Tell me what I can do to convince you how sorry I am,” she says, “I’ll do anything.”

 

The headmistress sighs.  “The truth of the matter, Miss Granger, is that none of this is your fault.  Hogwarts is a school for children.  You are not a child.  Hogwarts is a place for children to respect authority, and for those in the position of authority to keep children safe.”  McGonagall looks pointedly at Hermione.  “We have never been able to keep you safe.  Therefore, it is hardly surprising that you are having trouble respecting authority.  The mistake was mine.  I should never have let you enroll as a student this year.”

 

Hermione opens her mouth to protest, but falls silent at a stern look from the Headmistress. 

 

“I should have invited you to come back as a teacher's aide and given you full status as a member of the staff.  You would have been free to help us, prepare for your NEWTs, and your relationship with Professor Snape, although still problematic, would be nowhere near as problematic for me as it is now.”

 

Hermione opens her mouth to apologize, but again the Headmistress silences her. 

 

“That is also my fault.  It also resulted in consequence of allowing a grown woman, a traumatized one at that, to register as a student.  Still, what's done is done, Miss Granger, and as Headmistress of this school my first responsibility is to this school.  Currently, that means damage control.”

 

Hermione stays silent, listening politely to McGonagall.  She has her best earnest student expression on her face.  When McGonagall gives her time to respond, Hermione says, “Just tell me what I can do to help.”

 

McGonagall studies Hermione for a breath, wondering how best to proceed.  Then, “Do you understand how important it is that the Ministry not catch wind of the nature of your relationship with Professor Snape?”

 

Hermione nods. 

 

“Do you really?  It wouldn’t just mean the end of his career as a teacher, or in any respectable profession.  It wouldn’t just mean the end of my tenure as Headmistress.  Oh, yes Miss Granger,” McGonagall says when Hermione’s face registers shock.  “There are those at the ministry who lobbied hard against my appointment and are itching for any excuse to take me down.  But that's not nearly the worst of it.

 

“Tell me, Miss Granger, why do you think I’m confident the ministry is going to keep this quiet, and keep Professor Snape out of Azkaban?”

 

Hermione has given this some thought.  “Scabior should have been in Azkaban.  He must have escaped.  Then he nearly killed me.  If the Wizarding public knew that they’d have the Minister’s head.”

 

“Correct.  Now tell me, what you think the current public opinion is on your Potions Professor?”

 

“Complicated,” Hermione says carefully.  “They want to hate him, they probably secretly do, but Harry, Ron and I have been steadfast in our support of him publicly.  No Witch or Wizard will speak against us at the moment.”

 

“Correct again, Miss Granger.  Now, what do you think would happen if the Ministry leaked to the press that Professor Snape had seduced you?”

 

Hermione’s mouth pops open in horror.  “They would turn on him in a second.  And if I defended him it would only make it worse.  Harry and Ron would disavow their support of him.  The ministry would concoct a story of Snape and Scabior working together, and they would pack Snape right of to Azkaban for the rest of his life.  And they would use his alleged help in the escape of Scabior to bring back the Dementors.”  One tear escapes Hermione’s eye to roll down her cheek.  She wipes it angrily away with her newly procured handkerchief from Snape, and ruthlessly shuts down the emotion.  

 

The tear, the handkerchief, the look of ruthless determination.  None of it goes unnoticed by the Headmistress. 

 

“Now you see the adult consequences of your adult relationship, Miss Granger.  It's a hell of a way to learn this particular life lesson, but there you have it.”

 

Hermione jerks a little in surprise at the sound of the curse word on McGonagall’s lips.  “Please,” she says softly.  “Just tell me how I can keep him alive.”

 

“The ministry wants to bury this as much as I do, but they will want to interview you.  You and Snape need to get your stories straight.  And you are going to have to practice defending Snape while still appearing to be mildly repulsed by him, instead of looking like a dewy eyed lovesick child.  Can you do that?”

 

“It won’t be a problem, Headmistress.  Tell me though, can you make sure they never see us in the same room together?”

  
McGonagall laughs softly, but there is no humor in it.  “Oh, intend to.”


	28. Chapter 28

Snape holds the ministry interview in his classroom.  He sits behind his desk and makes the ministry lackeys sit like children. They are paper pushers, not detectives.  Snape is sure their job is to bury this so it never comes up again.  First though, they have to feel him out for weaknesses.  If it weren’t for the fact that Hermione’s freedom was at risk, too, he would almost find this fun. 

 

“How did you first become aware of the threat against Miss Granger?”  One of them asks all the questions.  The other one records everything, and occasionally asks for clarification.                                 

 

“There was talk in the Slytherin Common Room.  I was made aware by a student who would not tell me who was doing the talking.  But I had reason to be concerned.”  His voice is low and monotone.  His expression never wavers from one of boredom tinged with irritation. He keeps his legs crossed and his elbows on the wide leather arms of his chair, fingers interlaced. 

 

“We are going to need the name of that student.”

 

“Which student is that?”  

 

“The one who, uh, let you know about the threat to Miss Granger.”

 

“No.”  

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Snape raises his eyebrows looks over his interlaced fingers at the quivering man.  “No.  The child is a minor and risked their safety and standing in house Slytherin amongst their peers, and the families of their peers, to inform me of a threat to a muggle born Gryffindor. My job is protect my students.  To divulge the identity of my source would put them at risk.  I won’t do it.”

 

The ministry oafs glance at each other before continuing.  “Did you try to investigate the plot?”

 

“Yes, although that proved to be fruitless.  Now that my true allegiance is known, many of my old contacts are no longer helpful.  And whomever it is who is trying to hurt Miss Granger is covering his or her tracks well.”

 

“You mean Scabior.”

 

“I do not.  Scabior was obviously a person’s or party’s agent in this matter, nothing more.”

 

“So you think there is still a threat to her?”

 

“There could be.  The Headmistress and I have asked Miss Granger to stay on Hogwarts Grounds until she completes her NEWTs. Hogwarts staff will be keeping a close eye on her until she graduates.”

 

“And then?”

 

“And then it is not my concern.  I am a teacher at Hogwarts.  When Miss Granger is no longer a student at Hogwarts, she is no longer my responsibility.”

 

They were a bit taken aback by his apparent lack of concern for Hermione.  Snape relaxed a little into his chair.  

 

“Why didn’t you inform the Ministry of the threat against Miss Granger?”

 

“Because the Ministry was near the top of a very short list of people and parties I thought might be behind the threat.”

 

“Excuse me?!” the lackey splutters, “Do you DARE to suggest that the Ministry-” 

 

Snape cuts him off. “Might issue an order to have her kidnapped and tortured?”  He is still deceptively calm, but his eyes are blazing. 

 

The man opens and closes his mouth a few times.  Then, “Did you warn Miss Granger of the threat against her?”

 

“I did.  I told her I believed it to be serious and asked her to refrain from patrolling the castle alone, and to be careful when leaving Hogwarts grounds.”

 

“That's all?”

 

“That was the appropriate response given my limited authority over her.  Miss Granger is of age and a competent duelist.  Attempting to restrict her movements further would have likely backfired, causing her to be less cautious. And this line of questioning is superfluous.  My warning worked.  She was on her guard.  When they attempted to lure her to the shrieking shack she recognized the trap immediately and called for help.”

 

“And how, exactly, did she call for help?”

 

“She sent her Patronus to me.”

 

“Oh, come now,” the man said, clearly disbelieving that Hermione was capable of such magic. 

 

It takes all of Snape’s self control not to hex the man.  

 

“I will not argue with you, sir.  If you doubt my word, perform Priori Incantatem on Miss Granger’s wand and see for yourself.”

 

The oaf actually takes down a note. 

 

“Why send the Patronus to yourself and not the Headmistress?  Isn’t the girl closer to McGonagall?”

 

“She was following my instruction.  I told her to inform me of any attempts to tamper with her.  Someone under the Imperius curse attempting to lure her into an abandoned shack fell under that category.”

 

“I’m sorry, the Imperious curse?”

 

“Yes.  It was a Hufflepuff boy I believe.  And no you may not have his name?”

 

“It's nearly impossible to tell if someone has been Imperiused. How did she know?”

 

“It is remarkably easy for a Witch or Wizard with half a brain in their head to tell when someone they know has been Imperiused.  Miss Granger has been trained to recognize the Imperious Curse.”

 

“What did you do when you received Miss Granger’s message?”

 

“I flew to the Hogwarts gates and disapparated to the shrieking shack.”

 

“You happened to have your broom handy?”

 

“I do not need a broom to fly.”

 

“What, uh, device did you use to fly to the Hogwarts gates?”

 

“I do not need a device to fly.”

 

“But that's-” the idiot stutters. 

 

“Dark Magic?  Yes, it is.  Voldemort taught me.”

 

At the mention of that name, the man taking notes startles so bad he falls out of his chair. 

 

“Are you beginning to understand why Miss Granger sent her Patronus to me instead of others she may be more fond of?” Snape asks, leering at them a bit.  “The girl may despise me but she isn’t stupid.”

 

“What did you do once you arrive outside the shrieking shack?”  The man asking the questions tries to steer the interview back on track as his colleague tries to get back in his chair. 

 

“The Hufflepuff boy drew his wand on me.  Miss Granger warned me that he was under the Imperius Curse.  I disarmed him, stunned him and petrified him. I sent my Patronus to the Headmistress informing her of the situation.  I asked Miss Granger to go back to the Castle.  She refused.  So we entered the shrieking shack together.”

 

“Why didn’t you just order her back?”

 

Snape has to remind himself to keep the affection out of his tone.  “Order her how?  As I have already told you, Miss Granger is a competent and powerful duelist.  Whomever was in the shrieking shack was obviously trying to harm her.  I could not have convinced her to turn back.  Perhaps I could have disarmed her but then what?  Leave her outside alone?  I didn’t have the time nor the inclination to duel with Miss Granger.  We needed the element of surprise to gain the advantage on her attackers.  So after informing the Headmistress of the situation we proceeded into the Shrieking Shack.”

 

“Were you concerned for Miss Granger’s safety?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Tell us what happened in the shack.”

 

“We were immediately set upon by three attackers.  I knew there was a fourth man in the shack but he did not make himself known at that point.”

 

The interrogator obviously wants to ask Snape how he knew that but doesn’t want to look stupid.   _ Too late _ , thinks Snape.  He continues. 

 

“We dueled the three men for about thirty seconds before Miss Granger managed to stun one.”  Again, the interrogator looks like he doesn’t believe a word of it.  _ Small minded fool,  _ Snape thinks, itching to curse the man.  “When the first man went down, the second one panicked and shot off a killing curse.  I deflected it and responded with one of my own.  It took him in the chest. We had the third one cornered when Scabior entered the room.”

 

Snape pauses here to see if they have anything to say about him casting an illegal curse.  They are silent.  He continues. 

 

“Scabior made some vulgar remarks about Miss Granger, but gave us no clue as to who had sent him.  Then the two men shot off two spells simultaneously.  A killing curse was aimed at me, which I deflected.  A dark stunning curse was shot at Miss Granger.  I realized it would likely bypass her shields, and I had no time to counter it or get her out of the way, so I stepped in front of her.  It struck me in the chest.  I lost consciousness and awoke in the infirmary.”

 

“What happened after you lost consciousness?”

 

Snape gives the poor man his most sour look.  “I was unconscious.  Anything I have to say on the matter would be hearsay.  That would be entirely inappropriate, don’t you think?”

 

To this, they have no response.

 

“Are we done here?” Snape says, rising out of his chair.  “I have work to do.”

  
  
  
  



	29. Chapter 29

The ministry oafs interview Hermione in the Headmistress’ office  Hermione sits behind the desk next to McGonagall.  She has her stone face on, quiet, composed, and unreadable.  Simpering schoolgirl would probably help her more, but she can’t stomach it. 

 

“Miss Granger,” the interrogator begins, “When did you first learn of the threats made against you?”  

 

“Before Halloween.  Professor Snape told me he was concerned for my safety.”

 

“And did you believe him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Where were you, when you had this conversation with Professor Snape?”

 

Hermione’s nostrils flare a little bit.  She can see where this is going already.  She is going to have to tread very carefully. 

 

“You don’t have a conversation with Professor Snape.  Professor Snape talks and you listen,” she says.  “We were in his office when he told me.”

 

“And why were you in his office?”

 

“I was grading his papers.”

 

“Why would you be grading Snape’s paper?”

 

Hermione is dying to correct him, but she restrains herself.  “I was grading Professor Snape’s papers in return for extra instruction in potions.”

 

“Ah, I see.  Remedial instruction?”

 

“No.”

 

“I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

 

“Advanced instruction.  We finished covering the NEWT material and moved beyond it.”  

 

The interrogator looks at McGonagall at this proclamation.  McGonagall stares back at him serenely. 

 

“Miss Granger, do you like your potions Professor?”

 

_ What does that have to do with the price of butter?  _ She wants to ask him, but she restrains herself.  “I respect him,” she says. 

 

“That's not what I asked.”

 

“That's the answer you’ll get,” she says, eyes flashing a bit.  She quickly puts her stone face back on. 

 

“Did you believe your professor when he told you your safety was being threatened?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What did you do when he told you?”

 

“What he told me to do.  I stopped doing patrols alone and I was careful when I left Hogwarts.”

 

“Did you tell your friends?”

 

“No.  I don’t want them to worry.”

 

“Tell me how you knew the shrieking shack was a setup.”

 

Hermione raises an eyebrow at the man.   _ Is he this stupid or just pretending?  _ “The boy was obviously under the Imperius Curse.”

 

“Why was it obvious to you?”

 

“He just kept repeating himself.  And it made no sense.  Why me?  He's in Hufflepuff, why not go to one of the Hufflepuff prefects? Or a teacher? Or Madam Rosemerta? It was the most obvious setup I’ve ever seen.”

 

“So what did you do?”

 

“The effects of the Imperius Curse can be dangerous, so I didn’t want to alarm the boy.  I sent my Patronus to-”

 

“Really, girl-”

 

“You will address me as Miss Granger, or Madam,” Hermione says in a steely tone. Then, to show off a little, she produces her Patronus with a nonverbal spell.  The little otter bounds out of Hermione’s wand.  She summons it to her attention and tells it, “Find Mr. Thistlewaite and tell him his condescension and disrespect is not appreciated.”

 

The otter turns to Mr. Thistlewaite and sits up on its haunches.  It opens its mouth and Hermione’s voice echoes out.  “Your condescension and disrespect is not appreciated.”  Then the otter bounds back to Hermione, sits on the desk next to her.  Hermione doesn’t dismiss it.  It begins to clean its whiskers. 

 

The stupid man opens and closes his mouth a few times.  

 

“What happened when Snape arrived?”

 

“Professor Snape arrived at the top of the hill outside the Shrieking Shack.  I informed him the boy was under the Imperius curse when the boy pulled his wand on the professor.  Professor Snape disarmed, stupefied, and petrified the boy.”

 

Thistlewaite nods for her to continue. 

 

“Professor Snape sent his Patronus to the Headmistress, then told me to go back to the castle.  I said no.  We went into the Shrieking Shack together.”

 

“Why didn’t you do as you were told?”

 

“The threat was made to me.  I wasn’t about to let Professor Snape handle it without my help.  I’ve dueled multiple death eaters, Mr Thistlewaite, I’m not entirely useless.  Unfortunately, it was a mistake.  I should have listened.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Professor Snape easily could have handled himself with Scabior and his goons.  I was only a liability, not because I was incapable of helping, but because Professor Snape was focused on keeping me safe instead of incapacitating our attackers so they could be interrogated.  I’m afraid my presence did more harm than good, sir.”  Hermione doesn’t have to fake the regret in her voice.  It is real.  Her Patronus wavers a bit.  She silently reinforces it. 

 

“What happened inside the shack?”

 

“Professor Snape said there were four men inside.  When we got into the main room three of them attacked us.  When I stunned the first one, the second one tried to kill me.  The professor deflected the curse and killed him.  We had the third guy about to surrender I think but that's when Scabior made his entrance.  He had a short conversation with us.  Then he and his ugly buddy cast two spells.  I thought they were both killing spells, they looked almost identical.  Professor Snape deflected one and stepped in front of the other and fell to the ground.  I thought he was dead.  I don’t remember anything after that.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I have no recollection of the time between Professor Snape falling and waking up in the infirmary.  From what we can piece together through the evidence in the shrieking shack, and from Priori Incantatem, I then proceeded to cast over fifty Sectumsempra spells on both Scabior and his unconscious and dead companions.  None of them survived.”

 

Thistlewaite looks incredulous at the Headmistress.  She nods.  They all stand up.

 

“The Minister will be in contact with all of you.  I don’t need to tell you that these events are not to be discussed with anyone.  Doing so could change our current inclination to not seeking any charges.”

 


	30. Chapter 30

“I hate it when you make me work with that small minded misogynist ass hat.”  Simon Pickens sits down in front of the desk opposite the Minister of Magic.  

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt laughs his low melodic laugh.  “Tell me it didn’t work, though.”

 

“It always works.  They never pay any attention to me.”

 

“Did you really fall out of your chair when Snape said ‘Voldemort?’”  Kingsley asks. 

 

“Yes, I did.  It was fucking hilarious.”

 

“So, tell me.  What do we know?”

 

“I pretty sure Snape survived a death curse.”

 

The Minister of Magic visibly rocks back in his chair at this.  “Are you sure?”

 

“Reasonably, yes.”

 

“That brilliant bastard,” the Minister says, more to himself than to his spy. 

 

“I know right?” says the spy.  “So what do you want to do?”

 

“Now?  Nothing.  Anything else to report?”

 

“Yes, well, kind of.”  Simon puts his fingers to the bridge of his nose of a moment, thinking, then.  “They’re hiding something else.”

 

“Who, McGonagall and Snape?”

 

“No.  Snape and the girl.  Hermione Granger.  I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is.  But it's something.  Do you want me to find out?”

 

“Nah,” says Kingsley to his old friend.  “Let them be.  Everyone has secrets.  I just glad Hermione Granger is alive and we managed to keep the breakout quiet.  It's a fucking miracle.”

  
Simon nods, and disappears.  Kingsley is left thinking long and hard about Severus Snape.


	31. Chapter 31

“I’ve received official word from the Minister.  This whole episode has been classified as a level B secret, not to be updated in the public record for fifty years.  All of us involved will have to sign non-disclosure affirmations.”  McGonagall peers over her glasses and across her desk to Snape.  She looks exhausted and old and he feels guilty and ashamed for the trouble he has caused. 

 

“What about the boy, what's his name, Arbuckle Puddlefoot?”  He says the name as if it tastes dirty in his mouth.   _ Hufflepuffs,  _ he thinks to himself with a snort.  

 

McGonagall lifts her eyebrows in pleasant surprise.  “Since when do you care?”

 

“Just tell me you’re not going to let them modify the boy’s memory!” He snaps. 

 

McGonagall sighs.  “They wanted to.  I had to threaten to go public with the whole thing to prevent that.”

 

Snape’s shoulders sag with relief.  “Good, then.”

 

“Are you going to be able to leave our favorite student alone once she leaves Hogwarts?”  McGonagall abruptly changes the subject. 

 

“That will be entirely up to her.  But, no, I expect not.”

 

McGonagall frowns deeply, disapproval reflected in her demeanor from the pointed tip of her crooked hat down to the toes of her dainty leather boots.  “Why can't you just tell her you don’t want her and send her on her way?  She’d get over you eventually.  You aren’t the only brilliant man in the world, you know.  You’re just the first for her.”

 

Snape pulls a deep breath in through his abnormally large nostrils.   _ She’s not wrong,  _ he reminds himself,  _ and she thinks she is trying to protect Hermione.  And she’s loved Hermione longer and better than I have.   _

 

“First of all,” Snape says softly, keeping his voice neutral, “Miss Granger called in my life debt shortly after we started working together.  She made me vow to never knowingly or willingly lie to her.”

 

McGonagall is stunned.  She just stares at Snape for a few breaths.  He looks at her impassively, giving her time to process the implications. 

 

“Did she hold your oath fulfilled after you made the promise?”

 

“Yes,” says Snape, glad McGonagall isn’t slipping. 

 

“So it was the making of the promise that fulfilled the debt, telling the truth to her now has nothing to do with it.”  McGonagall is thoughtful now, her thin lips slightly pursed, eyes narrowed.  “Do you think she realizes this?”

 

“I do,” says Snape.  “She has obviously spent a fair bit of time researching life debts.  The practice of formally invoking one is fairly outdated.  In this day and age of the Wizarding world we see them play out passively.  Such as it did between Potter the younger and Pettigrew.”

 

“So why would Hermione force you to make an unenforceable promise and then release you from the debt to her?  It makes no sense.”

 

“I can’t know for sure,” muses Snape, “She was masking her thoughts by the time this played out.  But I think the imbalance of power upset her.  She was worried that the only reason I was giving her extra instruction was because I felt some sort of obligation to her.  But Miss Granger was already developing a sharp intuition when it came to me.  For practical purposes, the promise is binding.  I can’t lie to her.”

 

“Still,” says McGonagall.  “There's a thousand leagues between not lying and telling whole truth.  You can still free her from this…  entanglement.”

 

“I could,” Snape agrees.  “But really, is an ‘entanglement’ with me so awful for her?  I know I don’t deserve her.  But I can give her what she deserves. 

 

“Miss Granger is traumatized.  Her trauma has unleashed considerable darkness within her.  I know you’ve seen her.  Who better than I to teach her how to take control of it and not let it destroy her- or worse- destroy those she loves?  If you could feel what I felt from her in the infirmary, the guilt over threatening you-”

 

“Oh, really Severus it wasn’t that bad.  You’ve said far worse to me.  And I forgave you.”

 

“She isn’t guilty because she said it, Headmistress.  She’s guilty because she meant it.”  Snape pauses to let this sink in.  All the light seems to go out of McGonagall as the revelation hits her. 

 

He continues, “Miss Granger has a long road ahead of her.  She is going to have to take responsibility for the darkness that takes ahold of her and keep it firmly and utterly in check for the rest of her life.”

 

McGonagall nods softly, eyes glistening a bit.

 

Snape continues gently.  “Is the thought really so repugnant to you?  Me, being the first of what will probably be many brilliant men and women in her life?  I fully intend to help her become independent and self sufficient.  I will encourage her to seek out knowledge wherever she can find it.  I will never hold her back from achieving greatness.  And when she grows out of me I will let her go.”

 

McGonagall sits in silent capitulation.  Then, “You’ll have to leave the school.”

 

“Are you firing me, Headmistress?” Snape asks with an ironic smile, trying to lighten the mood. 

 

“Yes,” she says, reaching into a drawer in her desk.  “Shall we drink to it?”

 

Snape nods.  “I did intend on leaving, Headmistress.  The school and the country if I can convince her.”

 

McGonagall pours the drinks.  “Now,” she says after they raise their glasses to one another, “Help me compose a letter to Horace.”

  
Snape sets himself to the task with goodwill. 


	32. Chapter 32

Hermione is studying alone in the Head Girl’s dormitory when McGonagall finds her.  She is surprised when the portrait hole opens; Ginny isn’t due back from Quidditch practice for hours yet.  Plenty of time yet to re familiarize herself with the properties of engorgement charms.  McGonagall lets herself in through the portrait hole.

 

“Miss Granger,” she asks, “Are you alone?”

 

“Yes, Headmistress,” Hermione says putting her work down and turning to face McGonagall.  Hermione finds it difficult to look at her.

 

“First of all,” says the Headmistress, “You need to get a handle on your guilt.  The fact that you still feel it means you aren’t what you accuse yourself to be.  Don’t fall prey to such a blatant logical fallacy.”

 

Hermione can’t help but smile at this.  Leave it to McGonagall to use logic to get her to stop feeling so guilty.  And its working, just a little.

 

“Now,” says the Headmistress when she sees her approach was successful.  “I have something for you.”  McGonagall gives Hermione a book.  

 

Hermione runs her fingers over the silver lettering on the cloth cover.  It reads,  **_A Study of the Phenomena of Bright and Dark Magicks, and the Energies that Produce Them,  by RJ Proctor._ **

 

“You asked me, Miss Granger, what you could do for me by way of apology.”

 

Hermione nods miserably.

 

“I want you to read this book.  Then, I want you to read it again.  And again.  And again.  Make it become a part of who you are.  I can’t make you dedicate your life to bright magic.  But if you are going to walk the line between bright and dark, I can damn well make sure you gain mastery and deep understanding of the two.  This book, combined with self reflection and ruthless honesty with yourself, can give you that.”

  
Hermione closes her hands around the book reverently and says, “I will.”   


	33. Chapter 33

On a Thursday evening less than two weeks before her NEWTs, Hermione shows up to her revising session with Snape four and a half minutes late.  When she bursts through the door to his office in her muggle clothes instead of her usual immaculate uniform and robes, Snape is highly amused.  He tries to keep a straight face.  Fails miserably.

 

She is wearing dark blue jeans and a very pretty cream colored blouse.  It isn’t tight by a long stretch, but it is tailored in a cut that accentuates her lovely adult curves.  The tops of her breasts are just barely peeking out from a flattering neckline. 

 

“I am so sorry, Professor, I lost track of time,” she says, taking her seat in front of him.  “And I’m sorry I didn’t have time to change.  I hope you aren’t offended.”

 

Snape looks at her, puzzled.  “Do you mean to insinuate that you change into your uniform and robes just to study with me, or grade papers for me?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, blushing a little.  “I thought it would, you know, help.”

 

“I’m touched, Miss Granger, that you took our little chat after the holiday so much to heart.  But please, feel free to dress as you like in my presence.  It makes no difference-” then he stops himself.  That would be a lie.  Her breasts, though more than respectably covered, are making quite the impression on him.

 

Hermione looks down.  “But it does, doesn’t it sir?”  

 

He gives her a sheepish smile and doesn’t say anything.  He doesn’t have to.

 

“Shall I go change?”

 

“No,” Snape says.  “We are covering conversion equations today.  I’ll try not to stare too much.  You do look lovely, Miss Granger.”  He knows he shouldn’t say it.

Her smile at the simple compliment is breathtaking.  Worth the small lapse in discretion.  

 

As Hermione works with quill and paper on the solutions he has set for her, Snape cannot keep his eyes off her collarbone, and the curve of her graceful neck as she is bent over her parchment.

 

Hermione can feel his eyes on her as she works the problems on the desk in front of him.  She has never felt so aware of her body, and yet fully transcended from it at the same time.  She isn’t a woman routinely given over to ridiculous flights of fancy, but the need to feel his hands on her has become an almost consuming obsession.  Her NEWTs cannot come soon enough.

 

When they finish with the arithmancy, Hermione gets up from her chair and then looks at Snape, waiting to be dismissed, ever the obedient student.  Snape raises an eyebrow at her and motions for her to sit back down.  She does.

 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he says.  

 

Hermione gulps.  “Sir?”

 

“You’re never late to our appointments.  What held you up today?”

 

“I was reading, sir.  The book the Headmistress gave me- it’s- I don’t even have the word.  The concept is so mind blowingly simple.  The ramifications of it govern our whole world.  Well, the magical world.  And metaphorically speaking, it applies to the muggle world as well.  Sorry, sir, I know I’m rambling.  I’m just excited.”

 

Snape gives her a little indulgent smile.  “Never apologize for your enthusiasm, Miss Granger, it is one of your most endearing qualities.  And you have many.” She blushes again right on cue.  Snape tries to capture the image of her like that in his head, graceful and sophisticated in her muggle attire and short hair, with that adoringly infatuated look on her face.  All big eyes and pink cheeks and her enticing mouth open in surprise and pleasure at his compliment.

 

“Now,” he says, “Explain what you have learned so far.  What is Proctor’s main premise?”

 

“That magical power comes from your core, and that your core is basically a stored source of emotional energy.  Bright magic is fueled by positive emotional energy: love, happiness, even mild contentment and peaceful thoughts can generally fuel most bright spells.  Dark magic comes from negative emotion and energy:  fear, anger, and malice being its primary sources.  But also shame, malcontent, disdain- there are many sources of dark energy all fueled by negative emotion.”

 

Snape nods in approval.  “You have a good grasp of the basic concept.”

 

“It's not complicated,” Hermione says, “Tell me, sir, don’t they teach this at hogwarts?  Especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts.  We used to have all this discussion on what constitutes a dark spell, and none of our teachers could ever really give us a good definition.  But Proctor explains it perfectly.  A dark spell is one fueled by negative emotion.”

 

“For a few reasons, Miss Granger.  First of all, the commonly held belief about that book, at least in the western wizarding community, is that it needs to be repressed because it's basically a handbook on how to become a dark Wizard.”

 

“What?!” Hermione is stunned.  “That’s ridiculous.  It’s just- information.  Knowledge.  Essential Knowledge!”

 

“I agree, Miss Granger, but look at it from their side.  There is a reason you weren’t ever told exactly what constitutes a dark spell.  Negative emotions are powerful.  Much more powerful, on average, than positive ones.  Have you gotten to that point in the book yet?”

 

Hermione shakes her head.  

 

“Well, then,” says Snape.  “We will continue this conversation later.”

 

“But I have so many questions!”  

 

“We have all the time in the world for you to ask them, Miss Granger.  Believe me, what starts out as a simple premise becomes an astounding mess of magical, emotional, ethical, even religious quandaries.  There are societies of Wizards whose only reason for existence is to study and discuss this book and the questions it poses.  The Headmistress told you to read this book until it is a part of you.  I suspect we will be discussing it for a long time to come.  For now, your rest is more important.”

 

_ We have all the time in the world.   _ Hermione wraps these words around her like a cloak.  The keep her feeling warm, and safe, and secure as her NEWTs, and the last days of the term, rapidly approach.

  
  



	34. Chapter 34

Snape closes the last textbook with a snap.  “That's it, Miss Granger.  NEWTs start on monday.  I forbid you to study over the weekend, do you understand?”

 

Hermione smiles.  “I do.”

 

Snape looks surprised.  “You’re really not going to fight me on this?”

 

Hermione shakes her head.  “Everyone else is going to be cramming like crazy.  I’m looking forward to reading more of Proctor’s book.  The weather has been so lovely.  I think I’ll sit and watch the whomping willow.  And take a walk around the black lake.  Maybe visit Dumbledore's tomb.  I haven’t yet, not since-”  She breaks off, suddenly, unsure of how much to say.  They haven’t talked about Dumbledore.

 

“I think, Miss Granger, that you are finally learning how to take care of yourself.  I’m proud of you.”

 

“Thank you, Professor,” she says.  And then, “When are we meeting next?”

 

“Meeting for what, Miss Granger?  You have your tests all next week.  When you’re not testing, I want you to be resting, eating, or spending time with friends.” 

 

“Spending time with you replenishes my core,” she says, and it's true.  She stares right into his eyes.  Her expression is frank, determined.  She isn’t trying to be flirtatious, or seductive, but it doesn’t matter.  Severus is completely and utterly seduced by her brown eyes staring directly into his black ones, all artifice discarded.

 

“Hermione,” he says.  

 

She sighs softly at the sound of him saying her name.  Her eyes drift shut for a breath, open again.

 

“I promise I’ll stay on this side of your desk,” she whispers, utterly sincere.  She doesn’t want him to do anything that will cause him guilt and regret.  They both already have enough to be getting on with.  

 

“An hour straight after dinner every night.  You can tell me about your tests and we will go over the following day’s tests.  I’ll put a pot of tea on.”  He smirks a bit at that, as if to say, ‘ _ see how normal I can be?’ _

 

“Tea sounds lovely, Professor,”  Hermione says, rising from her chair.  “Are we done now?”

 

Snape gives her a long look.  The air between them is thick with unspoken innuendo.  “For now, Miss Granger.  Take one of the sleeping aids I gave you with your dream potion tonight.”

 

“Yes, sir.  Goodnight.”  Hermione leaves quickly while she still can, breathing a sigh equal parts relief and frustration as she slams the door to his office behind her.  She leans against the door for a moment, composing herself for the walk back to her room.  “I’m going to fucking explode before this is over,” she groans quietly to herself.

  
Inside his office, Snape chuckles darkly to himself.   _ Me, too, sweetheart.  Me too. _


	35. Chapter 35

Hermione’s NEWT week is about as different from her OWL week as it can be.  The tests are basic and straightforward.  She is well versed in the material.  Her practical exams go flawlessly, and she barely feels the depletion from her core even after all the demanding spellwork.  The testers try hard to appear unimpressed, but they fail miserably.  After every practical examination, a witch or wizard pulls her aside and asks her what her plans are for further education.  

 

She gives them all the same answer:  “I haven’t decided yet.”  And then, to end the conversation, “Thank you for administering my test today.”

 

In between tests and before dinner Hermione helps Ginny study.  Ginny has done very well this year, and is in a great position to get the NEWTs she needs to join Harry as an auror.  When Hermione tell her this she beams with pleasure, but then tells Hermione she has six quidditch tryouts scheduled for the upcoming summer.  

 

“When you’re an international quidditch star,” Hermione says, “Will you still love me if I never come to your games?”

 

Ginny rolls her eyes.  “I’m not even going to answer that.”  Then Ginny’s face becomes quite serious.  “Okay,” she says, “I’ve given you all the space I can possibly give you, so can you please just tell me what the fuck is going on?”

 

Hermione is immediately on her guard.  “With?”

 

“You!  You plan everything out down to the last fucking inconsequential detail.  Every.  Fucking.  Thing.  I KNOW you have a plan for when we leave.  What is it?”

 

“Honestly I don’t, Ginny,”  Hermione says, relieved that Snape hasn’t been brought up.  “I’m going to Grimmauld place, I think for a while.  But maybe not too long.  I just need some time to not be in a war or at this school.  I want some time to study what I want to study.  I have the money from the Order of Merlin.  So I’m not in a hurry to figure it out.  But you know me.  I’ll probably be back in school in no time.”  Hermione smiles easily at Ginny, trying to reassure her.

 

“You’ve changed,” Ginny says, but not critically.

 

“Yes,” Hermione agrees.  “I’ve been working hard at it.  But not that much.  You know what?  I fucking miss Harry and Ron.  I can’t wait for it to be the four of us at Grimmauld Place.  And whoever else shows up,” Hermione ads.  

 

“It feels like there’s something else you’re not telling me,” Ginny says.

 

Hermione nods.  “There is.  I promise I will tell you when we get out of here.  And I’m sorry I can’t tell you everything now.  But people’s lives are at risk and it can’t be helped.”

 

“What?!” Ginny is understandably alarmed.  

 

“I promise I will come clean to you.  Just not here.”

 

Ginny pauses.  But Hermione’s jaw is set and her eyes are hard.  She reminds Ginny of Snape in that moment, and Ginny has the good sense to let it be.  For now.  She nods, hugs Hermione in a big bear hug.  

 

“Oh, Her-mo-ninny,” she says, mimicking the way Victor Krum used to say her name.  The girls break into giggles and the tension is gone.  Hermione feels light- lighter than air, and loved.

  
  


Hermione is still glowing when she lets herself into Snape’s office.  He is already pouring the tea.  He looks up at her.  Stops pouring.  Raises an eyebrow.

 

“Something lit a light inside you,” he says conversationally.  He goes back to pouring to keep from staring at her.

 

“Ginny,” says Hermione, “Is so fu- sorry professor- freaking funny.”

 

It takes some effort, but he manages to put his scariest scowl on his face and glare at her.  Hermione tries so hard to look contrite, then- failing that- tries not to laugh.  Then she bursts into a fit of giggles.

 

“Detention, Miss Granger,” Snape says.

 

“When?” Hermione manages to gasp out between fits of giggles.  “With whom?”

 

“With me,” he snaps.  “Right now.  Drink your tea… if you can.”  He snorts.  She is ridiculously cute.  “And fifty points to Gryffindor,” he says, almost as an afterthought.

 

This stops the giggling.  “What?  Why?”

 

“Because you’re my favorite student,” he says, sipping his tea in his long black robes and looking every bit the distinguished professor.

 

“Careful, sir,” Hermione says, grinning.  “You don’t have much time left to take them back.”

 

Snape considers her comment for a moment.  Then, “This time, Miss Granger.  I’m going to let you keep them.” 

  
  
  


The Defense Against the Dark Arts practical exam is the last one, held friday afternoon.  They are all called in one at a time, but in a gesture of solidarity, the members of the DA stick together after the test.  When the last of them finishes the exam, they all leave the corridor together.  

 

“We’re done, you guys,” says Ginny, managing to sound stunned and excited at the same time.  Everyone gives a big cheer as they head down to the great hall together.  Then, someone shoots off a patronus.  The rest of the DA quickly follows suit, and pretty soon there is a laughing, cheering, chanting group of seventh years marching down the corridors lead by a pack of leaping, bounding, and flying patronuses.  

 

They burst into the Great Hall, which is beginning to fill up for supper.  The other members of the DA get up quickly and join them, and more patronuses join the first.  The younger children, watch, mouths open, spellbound.  

 

Then Ginny, laughing, casts her Bat Bogey hex at everyone she can point her wand at.  Soon, the great hall is full of laughter as the members of the DA are frantically beating the arms around their heads.  Hermione manages to banish hers first and promptly conjures her signature yellow canaries and sets them on Ginny.  She hasn’t conjured them in a while, and is astounded at the number of them that come pouring out of her wand. 

 

The Great Hall has descended into utter chaos, the younger children clapping, cheering, stomping, and jeering.  The DA is in a full fledged charms war at this point.  Hermione gets hit with a tap dancing charm and her legs leap her up on the Gryffindor table and tap dance her up and down it until it wears off and she falls over laughing.  In the midst of it, more than thirty patronuses race around the hall, blinding in their brightness, as blindingly bright as Hermione as ever seen them.

 

Just as she is hit with another bat bogey hex, and sees what she swears is the Headmistress in her cat form catching canaries, she realizes with palpable relief that the children have survived the war with their souls intact.  And that, perhaps, there might be hope for hers as well.  

  
  


Friday night finds her back in Snape’s office.  

“That was quite a scene in the Great Hall tonight,” Snape says as he pours thier tea.

 

“Did you see the Headmistress catching canaries?” Hermione says, eyes dancing.  “I almost didn’t believe it.”

 

“I saw,” he says, his face in a disapproving sneer.  But Hermione can see his jaw twitching.  She isn’t fooled.  She wonders how she ever was.

 

“I have a question for you, Professor.”  Hermione says.  

 

He sits down and passes her tea, motioning for her to continue.   

 

“I know you and the Headmistress have asked me to stay on school grounds, but my friends are going to be at Hogsmede pretty much the entire weekend.  I don’t think I can avoid it without raising questions.  And frankly, Ginny has had about enough of me keeping things from her.”

 

“I am officially placing your safety and well being back in your own very capable hands, Miss Granger,” Snape says, careful to keep the regret out of his voice.  “You are a powerful, competent witch.  You are aware of the possible dangers and threats against you.  I don’t think there will ever be a time when you will not be a target.  Be smart, be vigilant, and cast the protections I have taught you every time you leave your protected space.  Never get so pissed that you can’t properly defend yourself unless you are in a safe place.

 

“But above all, Miss Granger, enjoy your time with your friends for this last week of school.  I will, of course, be administering finals for the rest of my students.”  

 

Hermione hears the implied meaning in his last comment.  This is their last private meeting at Hogwarts.  

 

“And after?” she says.  She tries to keep her voice strong, but it comes out barely more than a whisper.  Her heart is pounding in her chest.

 

“Is it your wish to see me again, Hermione?”

 

“Yes,” she breathes, the word a plea on her lips.

 

“When you are safely ensconced at Grimmauld place, when the school year is officially over and you are no longer my student, find some privacy and open the letter I sent you at Christmas.  If you don’t change your mind between that moment and the end of July, I will bring you the results of your NEWTs.”

 

Hermione draws in a little breath.  “That long?” she asks him, her heart breaking a little.  

 

He gives her his most indulgent smile, and reaches across the desk to her.  She sets down her tea and takes his hand.  He runs the pad of his thumb over her knuckles.  She closes her eyes in pleasure.

 

“I have some business to take care of,” he says, still holding her hand across the desk.  “And we both need a little time and space between this phase and the next.”

 

Hermione nods at this.  He is right, of course.  She lets go of his hand and looks up at him.  “I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough for what you’ve done for me this year, Professor Snape,” she says.   

 

“Your success is all the thanks I need, Miss Granger.  Please continue to take care of yourself the way I have taught you.”

 

“I promise, sir,” Hermione says, standing up from her chair.  “May I go now before I try to leap across your desk?”

  
His smile is as genuine as she has ever seen it.  “You are dismissed, Miss Granger.”


	36. Chapter 36

_ My Dear Hermione, _

 

_ I have just sent you away from me for your holiday break.  That half hopeful half heart-broken look on your face as you left my office nearly sent me chasing after you, propriety be damned.  I have come to the conclusion that I am going to need your cooperation if I want to make it to the end of the school year without thoroughly having my way with you.   _

 

_ If we are to spend the term ruthlessly denying our adult attraction to each other, and forcing ourselves back into the roles we have chosen to play, I want to tell you now that your obvious infatuation with me has never been, and will never be, one sided.  My desire, and deep affection for you, has been steadily increasing in step with your own.  If I have been better at hiding it, it is only due to my age and experience, and the fact that I have so much to lose. _

 

_ I also wish to take the time, here, to try and impress upon you how deeply unethical it is on my part to return your feelings.  I am in a position of authority over you, you look up to me and trust me, and as such I am in a remarkably easy position to manipulate your emotions.  Many perverted Professors have taken advantage of young students this way, and the thought that I may be doing that to you, even inadvertently, keeps me up at night even more than your nightmares ever did.   _

 

_ Please, Hermione, I implore you:  while you spend this time without contact with me or influence by me, consider this possibility most seriously.  If you are confused about your affections for me in any way, listen to your own heart and take all the time you need to mull this over.  YOU OWE ME NOTHING.  I will always be here for you, as your friend, as your mentor, as your confidant, regardless of whether we enter into a romantic relationship or not. _

 

_ If we are to continue down our current trajectory there are other matters I need you to consider most seriously.  Any romantic entanglement between the two of us is not going to be received well by the British Wizarding community.  And- although I have no doubt your friends are loyal, that loyalty may not be so strenuously tested if we put some distance between ourselves, Hogwarts, Britain, and the lot.  I have known for some time now that my relationship with you would cost me my position one way or another, and you must believe me when I say I do not regret it for a moment.  There are a few epicenters of Wizarding Academics outside Great Britain, take the time to inform yourself on them.  We can discuss this in more detail when we are together again face to face. _

 

_ Unless there is an emergency, or you need to inform me you no longer want me to deliver your NEWT results in person, please refrain from contacting me during this time.  I will be thinking of you every moment, Hermione Jean Granger.  _

  
_ Yours,  Severus Tobias Snape _


	37. Chapter 37

Hermione and Ginny have been at 12 Grimmauld Place for a few days now.  Hermione has claimed the library as her own space.  With a few magical modifications, the attached closet becomes a serviceable bedroom.  Ginny and the boys encourage her to take one of the bigger bedrooms upstairs, but she knows she won’t be here long.  

 

Upon arrival at Grimmauld place, Hermione had immediately settled into the library to “unpack.”  She cast every privacy spell she knew, sat down on her favorite chaise, and tore open Snape’s letter.

 

Now, days later, she has read the letter dozens of times.  She reads it before she goes to sleep at night, and first thing in the morning when she opens her eyes.  The only thing preventing her from carrying it around with her is the thought of getting caught with it.

 

She knows she has to talk to them, though, Ginny and Harry and Ron.  Ginny and Harry have been quite occupied with each other, and Ron has been avoiding her.  From what Hermione has been able to piece together from Harry and Ginny, Ron has become quite the ladies man, has several girlfriends, and thinks Hermione expects them to get back together.  Thus, the ignoring.  It takes all of Hermione's self control not to laugh out loud when they tell her this.  

 

So, on the third night since her and Ginny’s arrival, Hermione prepares a family meal for the four of them to get them together.  She doesn’t want to have to tell this story more than once.  She also brings out a bottle of old whiskey she found tucked away in the library.  

 

At the end of the meal, when they are all full and warm and happy, Hermione pours them big glasses of whiskey and produces an enchanted parchment.

 

“This,” she says to them without preamble, “Is a magical contract that will prevent you from discussing what I am about to tell you with anyone but eachother.  You will need to sign it if you want to hear what's been going on with me for two reasons.  The first is that part of the story contains events that have actually been classified by the Ministry and I could do up to ten years in Azkaban for telling you about it.  But more importantly a lot of it has to do with my personal life and I want it kept absolutely fuckng private.  So- do you agree?”

 

They all look a little stunned, but, eventually, they sign the parchment.  Harry is the first to volunteer, naturally.  After him, the two Weasleys follow suit.

 

Hermione then takes a big gulp of whiskey and proceeds to tell them the whole story.  She leaves out the part where she and Snape basically fall for eachother, but she doesn’t downplay the personal nature of their relationship, the way he has been managing every aspect of her life, the way he has been kind and generous.  She even describes to a slightly revolted Ron, dumbfounded Harry, and fascinated Ginny how he wiped the tears from her face with his own hands. When she gets to the part where Snape takes the killing curse for her, and what happened after that, they are stunned into absolute silence.  

 

“So,” she says, “Snape is coming here at the end of July to deliver my NEWTs.  I don’t know how long he will stay, or if he will even try to socialize with you guys- but he is important to me.  My relationship with him is very personal.  Please, I am begging you guys.  Respect my privacy, and be kind to Snape.  We shouldn’t be in the country too long after July.  I am going to study at the University in Venice, and he should be accompanying me.  So you won’t have to put up with him for long.  Promise me you'll be respectful?”

 

“Yes,” says Harry.

 

“I will if he is,” says Ron.

 

“Fair enough,” says Hermione.

 

They all look at Ginny.

 

“If he makes you sad I’ll hex him again,” she says.  

 

Hermione lets out a huge sigh and sags into her seat, gulping at her whiskey.  “Thanks guys.”

 

“Wait,” says Ron, “By personal, do you mean, you know, _ personal? _ ”

 

“Personal means none of your fuckng buisness, Ronald.  But you can stop avoiding me already.  I don’t care how many girls you’re shagging.”

  
“Wow, okay,” says Ron, and miraculously shuts his mouth.  


	38. Chapter 38

On the last friday in July, Hermione is in her library at Grimmauld place.  It is three o'clock in the afternoon, and she is tucked into her chaise with a steaming mug of tea.  She is on her third read through of Proctor’s book.  Beside her, she has a notebook full of questions for Snape and notes for a letter she intends to write the Headmistress when the time is right.  

 

A knock at her door breaks her concentration.  “Come in!” She calls.

 

It’s Harry.  “A hogwarts owl came,” he says, holding an envelope out to Hermione.  “It had Ginny’s NEWTs, and this for you.”

 

Hermione is almost jumping up and down with excitement.  “How did she do?” she asks Harry as she tears her letter open.  “Really good, right?”

 

“She did great,” says Harry, “She’s really pleased.  If that’s not your NEWTs then what is it?”

 

It’s a note from Snape.  

 

_ Hermione- _

 

_ I have your NEWT results.  I will be arriving at Grimmauld Place no later than four o'clock this afternoon. _

 

__ __ __ _ -Severus _

 

When Hermione doesn’t answer him, he reads the note over her shoulder.  

 

“He’s Severus, now, is he?” he teases Hermione, but his green eyes are dancing with humor.

 

Hermione puts the note down on her desk carefully, then turns to Harry.  

 

“Is Ginny downstairs?  I want to go congratulate her!”

 

Ginny is ecstatic.  She has received all Exceeds Expectations and Outstandings, including an Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts.  Her marks are more than good enough to get into Auror training, but Hermione knows she’s hoping for a call from the Chudley Cannons.

 

At three forty-five the doorbell rings.  Hermione rises, but Harry is closer to the kitchen door and beats her into the hallway to answer it.  Hermione hangs back in the hallway and watches Harry let Snape through the door.  

 

“Potter,” Snape says, and reaches out his hand.

 

“Snape,” says Harry, and shakes hands with him.  

 

Hermione’s eyes drink in the sight of him. Snape is wearing all black, as usual, but he has forgone his usual frock coat and billowing black teacher’s robes.  The top button of his black dress shirt is casually opened, and- astonishingly- the sleeves are rolled up halfway to his elbows.  The Dark Mark stands out stark black on the pale skin of his forearm.  Apparently, he doesn’t care.

 

Snape’s black and grey hair is pulled back from his angular face, and Hermione can see that he has purposely put on his non-scary face for this meeting with Harry, and she loves him for it.

 

“Thank you for having me in your home,” he says to Harry formally.

 

“You are welcome any time, sir,” replies Harry.  “This house is always open to members of the Order.”

 

“You are most generous, Mr. Potter,” says Snape.  

 

“Please call me Harry,” says, Harry, “When you say ‘Mr. Potter’ like that I feel like I’m about to end up in detention.”

 

Snape gives him a sardonic half smile.  “Very well,” he says.

 

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” says Harry, gesturing to Hermione, who is approaching behind him.  He quickly exits the hallway.

 

Hermione stops a few feet in front of Snape.  He can see that she is trembling slightly as she looks up at him.  He cocks an eyebrow at her as if to say,  _ really? are we back to that? _

 

Hermione smiles, then.  She takes the last few steps to him and he takes her in his arms.  He feels even better than she remembers.  She stands up on her tip toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face into it.  His hands, low on her waist, pull her into him and hold her tight against him.  

 

She is still trembling, he can feel it.  “Are you alright, sweetheart?” he asks her, moving a hand up to stroke the back of her head. She nods, her face still pressed into him.  He shifts her gently so that he can see her face.  She’s flushed, and her eyes are bright with unshed tears.  She is obviously overwhelmed.  He kisses her forehead, then her temple.  He cups her face with his hand.

 

“Would you like to see your NEWTs?” he asks.

 

She smiles at him.  “Please,” she says.  reluctantly, she moves out of his embrace.  “Come on,” she says, taking his hand, “I’ve claimed the library.”

 

They bypass the kitchen, where Harry, Ron, and Ginny are celebrating loudly.  “Dinner’s at six!” Ginny calls to them as they pass.  Hermione leads Severus up the stairs to the first landing, through the big double doors and into the Black Family Library.      

 

Severus sighs as he enters her space, so comfortable and familiar to him.  He takes it all in- the floor to ceiling books, clearly recognized by her. Her desk with his note still on it. The chaise lounge, clearly her favorite place to read, with the Proctor book open and her leather notebook beside it.  He’s looking forward to answering the month’s worth of questions for him that he knows it must contain.  He can’t help but notice the door to the library closet is open, and- is that a bed?

 

“Hermione,” he says sternly, “Have you been sleeping in a closet?”

 

She looks up at him, indignant.  “I expanded it and added a window!  It’s perfectly adequate.”

 

“It’s a fucking closet,” he says, looming over her.  “Can’t Potter give you a proper bedroom?”

 

“ _ Harry,” _ Hermione says, “wanted me to take the biggest one.  But I didn’t plan on being here very long, so-”

 

Severus reaches out to tuck a stray lock of her short hair behind her ear.  He still can’t quite believe that he can touch her.  That he is allowed.  That she wants him too.  But she clearly does.  She quits talking as soon as his fingers brush her cheek. Her eyes close in pleasure.  She uconciously licks her lips.  

 

“Wherever do you plan on going so soon?” he asks her, his voice low.

 

She opens her eyes and looks up at him.  “Somewhere with you.”

 

“Hermione?” he asks as he takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping her face up to his.

 

“Yes?”

 

“May I kiss you?”

 

“Please,” she says.

 

He studies her face for a breath longer.  Her lips are parted, eyes bright.  There is no uncertainty in her face,  Her body language is relaxed, open, trusting him.  He brushes the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip, and gauges her reaction.  Her tongue darts out to taste where he touched her.  She gives a little sigh.  Everything about her is telling him,  _ yes. _

 

So he bends down and sets his lips on hers.  Apart from his thumb and forefinger holding her chin, no other part of him is touching her.  If she wants to break off the kiss, all she need do is step back, or just turn her head.  

 

But she doesn’t. She presses back into him, parting her lips beneath his, inviting him to deepen the kiss.  He does.  She raises one hand up and puts it tentatively on his face.  

 

Hermione has never been kissed like this.  Severus is obviously trying to be as gentle as he can, but there is nothing soft about him, nothing soft about the kiss.  His lips are firm, pressing down on hers from above, demanding submission.  His face is rough, all sharp angles and five o'clock shadow under her hand.  When she opens her mouth to him finally, he takes her bottom lip between his teeth.  He doesn’t bite her, not exactly, but she makes a surprised sound in the back of her throat, and he ends the kiss abruptly.  She pulls her hand slowly away from his face.  Her eyes are still closed.  He doesn’t let go of her chin.

 

“Hermione,” he says firmly, “Look at me.”

 

She looks up at him.  Her eyes are wide and serious.  He finds he cannot read her expression.  She isn’t broadcasting anything to him either.  

 

“What are you thinking, sweetheart?” he asks her.

 

“That I’ve never been kissed like that before?” she says, breathing a little fast.  She reaches up to touch his skin where his shirt is open at his throat.  He forces himself to keep still, when all he wants to do is pull her back into him and give her a real kiss.  Her fingertips are soft and light, touching his adam's apple, then his sternum.  The look on her face is pure fascination.  Then she notices him smirking down at her and jerks her hand away.

 

“Sorry,” she says.

 

“For what?” he asks, kissing her temple.  “You don’t have to get permission to touch me.”

 

She nods.

 

Severus reaches into his pocket and produces an envelope.  He holds it up to her.  “Don’t you want to see how you did?”

 

She snatches it out of his hand and moves to the chase,  When he makes no move to join her she looks up at him expectantly, then pats the cushion beside her.  He sits next to her, his arm behind her on the back of the chaise, his hand resting lightly at the juncture between her neck and shoulder, his thumb lightly stroking the bare skin there.

 

Distracted by his touch, it takes Hermione a few tries to get the envelope open.  Inside, an official congratulatory letter from the NEWT commision, and her results:

 

Transfiguration Outstanding

Charms Outstanding

Arithmancy Outstanding

Ancient Runes Outstanding

Potions Outstanding

Defense/Dark Arts Outstanding

Muggle Studies Outstanding

History of Magic Outstanding

Magical Creatures Exceeds Expectations

Herbology Exceeds Expectations

 

“I didn’t even know you were planning on sitting the last three,” Snape tells her, “We didn’t study for them.”

 

“I wasn’t,” Hermione says.  “They were just kind of- impulse tests.”

 

“I am so proud of you,” he murmurs into her hair.  “With marks like that we can go anywhere.  Have you decided where?”

 

Hermione nods.  “Vernice,” she says.  She looks up to him.  “Can we go?”

 

“Why are you asking me?” Snape counters.  “Do you think you can get in?”

 

“Yes,” she says.  “Will you really come with me? Where ever I decide? Just like that?”

 

“To the ends of the earth.  Just like that.”  He strokes her hair for a moment.  Then, “Can I ask you about my letter?”

 

“You can ask me anything, Severus,” she replies, “Just don’t stop touching me.”

 

He strokes his long, elegant fingers down the nape of her neck, then across her collarbone and back up again.  “Did you give some thought to the things I asked you to think about?”

 

“Yes, I did,” she said.  

 

“And?” He asks.

 

“Are you actually worried about that?”

 

“Yes,” he says.  “Its disturbs me deeply that I may have somehow- may  _ be _ somehow- taking advantage of you.  It was a stressful year for you to say the least.  And I-”

 

“You didn’t seduce me. You gave me a shelter from the storm,” Hermione says gently.  “You made me feel safe.  You helped me put the pieces of my life back together in a way that made sense.  And when I stopped being afraid of you, I started to really look at you. Then one day I was watching you decanting a potion and I was fascinated by your hands, and all of a sudden I was fantasizing about you touching me and-”  She stops for a moment.  Severus is staring at her mouth.  He moves closer to her on the chaise until she is pressed up against him.  

 

“Hermione,” he says, “I want to kiss you properly this time.  But first I need you to promise me that if you feel uncomfortable or overwhelmed, or if you want me to stop for any reason that you will tell me to. If I have your lips covered you will push against me with your hand. Promise me.”  His lips are so close to hers already she can feel his breath on her as he speaks.

  
“I promise,” she says.


	39. Chapter 39

Ginny, Harry, and Ron are cooking dinner.  Which means Ginny and Harry are cooking dinner and carefully supervising Ron.  The mood is light, if a bit apprehensive.

 

“What do you think the greasy old bat is doing to her up there?”  Ron muses darkly to himself.

 

“Shut up, Ron!” Harry and Ginny say in unison.

 

“Really, mate, you didn’t want her back.”  Harry says pointedly.

 

“I still don’t!  But she’s our best friend and it’s Snape!”  He mimes puking dramatically.

 

“It’s a bit- weird,” says Harry as he drains the potatoes.  “But also kind of weirdly makes sense.  He’s a genius.  They’re probably up there reading.”

 

Ginny snorts, and almost drops the chicken.

 

One floor above, Hermione is most decidedly not reading.  She is not even thinking, in fact.  Her entire self has descended purely into the physical realm and her head is blessedly silent, incapable of coherent thought.  

 

Severus’ lips are pressed hard against hers, his hand cupping the back of her head holding her firmly in place.  His lean body is pressing her down into the chaise.  She can barely breathe, or move.  She holds on to him, pressing her palms into his back to tell him:  _ closer, more. _

 

Severus is kissing firmly down Hermione’s neck, deliberately scratching her soft delicate skin with his rough face.  Her legs are wrapped around his hips, and when he does this, she moans and -subconsciously- parts her legs farther for him.  It’s a very promising reaction.  Her palms are pressing against his back, holding him against her, a constant reassurance of her consent to his onslaught.

 

_ closer.  more.   _ He catches the thought with a disorganized onslaught of desire, excitement, and just a tiny tinge of fear.  

 

He changes the tempo of his kisses from demanding to playful.  “I can’t get any closer to you without removing your clothes, my dear.”

 

“Okay,” she says.

 

He chuckles a little at her enthusiasm.  “I am not going to fuck you on a chaise in Potter’s library,” he says.

 

“It’s my library,” she says, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of black hair behind his ear.  But she’s blushing scarlet at his mention of fucking.  She abruptly occludes.  

 

Downstairs in the kitchen, the conversation has taken on a more serious note.  Dinner is almost ready.  With little to distract her, and Snape and Hermione upstairs ‘reading,’ it’s hard for Ginny to not be concerned.

 

“I feel like he’s going to take her from us,” she says to the boys.  “When I went in the other day the floor was covered in books and pamphlets from magical Universities, and she had drawn up a list of pros and cons.  There weren’t ANY schools from Britain on her list.”

 

“But Snape lives at Hogwarts,” say Ron, reaching out to steal a roll.  Ginny slaps his hand away with practised ease.  

 

“Not if he wants to have Hermione,” Harry says.  “I’ll bet McGonagall is livid.”

 

“You think she fired him?” asks Ginny thoughtfully.

 

“I think he was smart enough to quit,” says Harry.

 

Upstairs in the library, Severus sits up, taking Hermione with him so that she is in his lap.  She runs her fingers across his jaw, absolutely fascinated with how rough it is.  She has never felt anything like it, apart from her previous stolen moments of closeness with him.

 

“It’s like sandpaper, isn’t it?” he says, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure.  “Do you want me to use a depilatory spell?”  He knows she doesn’t.  But does  _ she _ know?  He wants to know how in touch she is with her needs and desires.  

 

“No!” she says firmly.

 

“Good answer,” he says, running his hands up her body from hip to armpit, grazing the sides of her breasts with his thumbs.  

 

“I like the sandpaper,” she says, sounding a little surprised at the revelation.  

 

“I know,” he says.  Her neck is at the perfect angle for him to reach with his mouth. He obliges with a string of kisses that end with a sharp nip of his teeth, like an exclamation point at the end of a long sentence.

 

“Ow!” she says.  But she is leaning into him, not pulling away.  “Then why did you ask me?”

 

“Because I wanted to know if  _ you  _ knew you liked it,” he says, kissing and licking the place where he bit her.  “Does ‘ow’ mean no?” 

 

“I- I don’t know, Severus,” she says.  “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

 

Severus removes his lips from Hermione’s neck.  He grasps her hips in his hands and gently but firmly removes her from his lap, placing her next to him on the chaise.  She protests with an angry growl.  

 

“I agree,” says Severus.  “Unfortunately, dinner is in half an hour and I don’t think it would be polite for me to show up with a raging erection.”  

 

Hermione blushes right on clue, tries not to look at his crotch, fails miserably.  The bulge isn’t subtle.  

 

“When you’re done ogling my cock, I have a question for you, sweetheart,” he says.

 

Hermione buries her face in her hands.  “Okay ask,” she says.  

 

Severus pulls her hands away from her face.  “You have nothing to be ashamed of.  Don’t hide from me.”

 

She looks at him.

 

He has to restrain himself from teasing her any further.  “I want to ask you about your past experience with men, Hermione.  You don’t have to tell me anything.  But knowing a little about your past experiences will help me immensely going forward.”

 

Hermione pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her chin on a knee.  Takes a deep breath.  Looks at Severus.  “Okay,” she says.

 

“I don’t care if you’re a virgin, or if you’ve had a thousand partners, ok?  It won’t change the fact that I want you, do you understand?”

 

“Okay,” she says again.  And then, “I’ve just had one partner.  We just did it the one time.”

 

“Were you sober?  Did you consent?”

 

“Yes and yes,” she answers.  

 

“How was it?” Severus asks her, in the deliberately gentle tone he uses only with her.

 

She looks away.

 

“Did it hurt?” he asks.

 

She nods.

 

“Were you wet?”

 

She shakes her head.  “I wanted to be.  I thought I would get that way- you know- eventually.” She stops, but Severus thinks she has more to say, so he remains quiet.  She continues.  “It was after the war- I just felt so numb.  I felt like I was losing him- Ron- losing everyone, really.  So one night I just told him I wanted to do it.  I thought it would be different, I was so stupid-” she breaks off, tearing up.  “Fuck!  Why do I always cry and ruin everything?”

 

Severus already has his Handkerchief in his hand.  “Your tears don’t ruin anything,” he says, wiping them away like he has been doing for half a year already.  “Remember the first time we did this?  After I was such an asshole to you?  Your bravery put me to shame that day.  It still does.  And I want to correct you very strongly on something, Hermione, so please listen to me, hmm?”

 

She nods.  He continues to dry her face as he talks to her.  “You are not stupid.  The way you lost your virginity was not stupid.  You loved that boy and you were slipping away from everyone, including yourself, and you asked for his help to bring you back.  You wanted him to make love to you, you wanted an intense physical experience to jolt you from the apathy you were descending into.  You asked a boy you loved and trusted to give that to you.  What you got was further trauma.  It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“I thought it was me,” Hermione says, the tears starting all over again.  “I thought there was something wrong with my body that I didn’t respond to him.”

 

Severus sets aside the Handkerchief and pulls her into his lap.  She is stiff at first, remaining in her fetal position.  But with a little coaxing she relaxes into his chest, unwrapping her arms from around her knees and putting them around him instead.  He strokes her hair until her sobs subside.  

 

“There is nothing wrong with your body, or with you.  You respond beautifully to me.  Experiencing your arousal with you today was breathtaking.”

 

“Could you tell that I was wet?” she asks, voice shaky with tears but her curiosity clearly getting the better of her.

 

“Of course,” he says, pulling her tight against him, tucking her head under his chin.

 

“Could you tell that I was wet that day in your office?”

 

_ Which time?  _ he thinks.  He goes with the moment it was the most obvious to him.  “When you kissed my palm, and I grabbed you by the hair?”

 

“You really could tell?”

 

“Yes.  And Gods, Hermione, your reaction to me when I took you by the hair was fucking beautiful.  That groan.  Fuck.  I was so out of line that night.”  

 

“I had the best orgasm I’ve ever had that night,” she says.  

 

He is suddenly rock hard, pressing into her.  She clutches at him, groaning softly. 

 

“How?” She asks.  “How could you tell I was wet that day?  How can you tell I am now?”

 

“Hmm, trade secret,” he says.  

 

Hermione gives a little snort.  “Promise you’ll tell me at some point.”

 

“Sure,” he says easily.  “Oh, that reminds me.  What was the insult you thought of that made you blush?  I won’t take offense, I promise.”

 

“Oh, that,” says Hermione, glad he can’t see her face.  “It wasn’t an insult.  That was the exact moment I realized I was rather fond of you.  I didn’t have a crush on you yet- at least- not that I was aware of.  But I looked at you and the only thing that sprang to mind was that I Iiked you.”

 

“Huh,” he says. “I was really looking forward to hearing that insult.”

 

“Sorry,” she says.  “I’ll think of a good one the next time I’m angry with you.”

 

“Deal,” Severus says.  Then, “Time for dinner, love. Stand up and let me fix you up.”

 

Hermione disentangles herself from his embrace and stands in front of him.  He straightens her clothes, using his wand to get the wrinkles out of her shirt.  He casts an anti inflammatory spell on her face.  Then straightens out her hair with his hands.  She points to him.

 

“My tears and snot are all over your shirt,” she says.  He looks down.  Takes care of it.

 

“Are you ready to have dinner with Harry Potter?” Hermione asks him, teasing a little.

 

Severus gives her one of his most withering looks as he stands up.  She giggles.  

 

“That depends,” he says.  “Is there liquor?”

 

“Yes,” she says.

  
“Then I will muddle through.” 


	40. Chapter 40

The celebratory dinner goes about as well as can be expected.  Severus drinks his whiskey and doesn’t say much.  Harry and Ginny talk Quidditch.  Ron glowers at Severus, who looks back with disdain.  But when they are levitating away the dinner dishes and bringing out the pudding, Ginny turns to Snape and says, “So when are you planning on stealing her away from us?”

 

“Ginny!” says Hermione, but Severus puts a calming hand on her back. 

 

“Hermione will be going wherever she damn well pleases and doing whatever she damn well pleases.  If I am lucky, she will allow me to accompany her.”  His face is dangerously, deceptively blank. 

 

“But she can’t stay here if she wants to be with you, can she?”  Ginny doesn’t back down. 

 

“How is it that I have resigned my post as teacher at Hogwarts, and here I am still having to repeat myself for  _ idiots?”  _ Severus snaps.  “Hermione can go wherever she wants, Miss Weasley.  And if she were to ask me to, I’d snog her on the steps of Gringotts and tell the whole bloody British wizarding community to piss off.  But have you ever thought that maybe she’s had enough?  Enough exposure, enough kidnapping, enough torture, attempted murder a few times a year and all the while the Daily fucking Prophet and Rita fucking Skeeter trying to turn the whole world against her while all she's trying to do is save everyone that isn’t as smart as she is?  Which is EVERY FUCKING WITCH AND WIZARD IN BRITAIN?”  He snarls the last part out with so much venom that everyone visibly startles except Hermione.

 

“He just called her the most brilliant magical person in Britain, Ginny.  Maybe you could ease up on him a little?”  Harry gives her a nudge.

 

“Do you swear if she wants to stay here you’ll stay with her?  That she doesn’t have to leave to be with you?”

 

“I swear it.”  His voice is monotone, his face unreadable.

 

“Swear it on your love for her,” Ginny says, unmovable.  

 

“I swear on my love for Hermione, that I will go wherever she goes, even if that means staying here.”  His voice is still steely, but when he says Hermione's name they all hear the emotion behind it. 

 

“Okay,” says Ginny.  “Merlin, but you’re a scary fucker.  I nearly pissed myself.”  She digs into her pudding.

 

“It didn’t show, Miss Weasley,” Severus says charitably.  And it’s true.  Being in a house full of sodding Gryffindors is exhausting for him.  

 

“Anyone else want to have a go at me?” asks Severus politely, “Or can I eat my pudding?”

 

“Eat your pudding,” says Harry, “And you will have survived a dinner with four Gryffindors.  Honestly though, if we were in Slytherin we would be kissing your ass at the table and contriving to drive you two apart behind your backs.  Or just drive something into your back. Isn’t it easier this way?”

 

“With Slytherins,” Severus says, his voice dripping with disdain, “I never have to repeat myself.”

 

“That's because they’re too cowardly to stand up to you,” Ron says, finally joining the conversation.  The irony of his comment isn’t lost on Severus.

 

“Or too smart,” Severus says darkly, between mouthfuls of pudding.  

 

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny all scoff openly at this comment.  Severus gives them a little smirk.

 

After their pudding is finished, Severus gets up.  “I think it’s time for me to make my escape from this den of lions.  Thank you for dinner and again for your hospitality.”

 

“You’re welcome anytime,” says Harry.

 

Hermione gets up and follows Severus out into the hall.  He takes her in his arms.  “Are you angry with me, love?” he asks.

 

“No,” she mumbles into his chest, “Why would I be?  You were defending me.  You called me the smartest person in Britain. Most of all you were just being Snape. Ginny knew she was poking a serpent’s nest.”

 

“Indeed,” he says bending to kiss her.  His kiss is slow but demanding.  Severus takes no prisoners.  The sleeping coils of her arousal begin to unravel in Hermione's belly when his tongue presses into her mouth.  

 

She pulls back from the kiss. “Severus,” she says.  “I need to be with my friends tonight, but- I don’t want to wait too long.”

 

“Wait too long for what, sweetheart?” he asks, knowing damn well what she means.  He wants to hear her say it.

 

“To make love to you.” She doesn’t blush this time.

 

“Come over tomorrow morning and I’ll have you for breakfast,” he says.  The look on his face is hard. Hungry.

 

Hermione gulps. “What time?”  


	41. Chapter 41

Hermione agonizes for an hour over what to wear to breakfast at Snape’s before it comes to her.  “Of course,” she says to herself.  She digs out the cream colored cap sleeve blouse and dark jeans from Hogwarts.  She can still feel his eyes on her modest neckline as she bent over the equations he set for her.  Arithmancy had never felt so erotic.

 

Down in the kitchen, she helps herself to a cup of strong, black tea.  She is humming a little tune as she pours her tea until she realizes the uncomfortable silence in the room.  Three pairs of eyes are on her, one green pair, and two blue ones.  

 

Hermione takes a sip of her tea and gives her friends a hard look.  It doesn’t take her big brain long to put two and two together (or as she likes to say it, find the square root of pi).  

 

“Let me guess,” she says to them.  “Extendable ears?”

 

They all look at each other.

 

“And now you wish you hadn’t.”  She says, like a mother scolding her three spoiled children.  “What is the ONE FUCKING THING I asked of you three?”

 

“To respect your privacy,” says Harry quietly.

 

Hermione is devastated by the betrayal.  She feels the pain of it like a stone in her stomach, and a sensation of being dropped suddenly.  She is intimately familiar with the sensation of being let down, and she’s had about enough.   _ Enough. _  When she says the word in her mind, miraculously, the twisting sensation inside her disappears and is replaced with a cold clarity.   _ ah, that’s better. _

 

Hermione looks at Harry, Ginny and Ron.  They are all seated at the kitchen table looking up at her.  She takes a sip of her tea as she considers how best to tell them she’s not coming back.  Not ever.  The tea has gone ice cold.  She spits it back into the mug and then throws the mug into the sink with all the force she can muster.  It shatters dramatically, sending droplets of cold tea and ceramic bits of mug flying about the kitchen.  Ginny starts to cry.

 

She is still sitting silently, staring up at Hermione from the table.  But a steady stream of tears flows from her eyes, down her cheeks, and onto her pale pink jumper.  She makes no move to wipe them, just looks at Hermione.

 

Hermione takes a breath and closes her eyes.  Lets it out.  Opens her eyes.  She looks at Ginny’s stricken face and deliberately recalls the sharp pain in her chest, the stone in her stomach, and all the conflicting emotion along with it.  She sighs. She wordlessly cleans up the mess in the sink and repairs the mug.  She pours herself another hot cup of tea, and sits down with her friends.  Takes a sip of hot tea.

 

“I know you guys are worried about me,” she says.  “I won’t ever ask or expect you to trust Snape.  But I do expect you to trust me.  And trusting me means respecting my privacy.  Agreed?”

 

The all agree, and apologize profusely.  Even Ron.

 

“You’re all forgiven,” she says. “And I’m late.”  She gets up to leave.  At the kitchen door she turns back to them.  “Love you guys.”

  
  
  


Severus looks up from his potions periodical when he feels Hermione enter his wards.  She’s two minutes and forty seconds late, which is unlike her.  She’s either nervous, or she had to stupefy her roommates to get out of her house. He knows about the extendable ears, so he decides the latter is more likely.

 

Severus opens the door just as Hermione is lifting her hand to ring the bell.  Her mouth pops open in surprise- not because he knew she was here, but because of what he is wearing.

 

“Come into my parlour,” he says, motioning her through the door.

 

Hermione steps into Spinner’s End, never taking her eyes off Severus.  He is barefoot.   _ Barefoot. _ He is wearing a pair of very torn, very faded jeans, and an old black t-shirt with the word  **Deviants** written across the front.  His long hair is pulled back from his angular face, and he obviously hasn’t shaved yet this morning.  His five o’clock shadow has progressed to a full day’s salt and pepper beard.  He smirks down at her, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

 

_ Two can play that game.   _ “Pardon the intrusion, sir, but I’m here to fuck my potions professor.  Do you know where he is?”  She tries to keep a straight face, and almost manages it.  

 

Severus’ eyebrows go up.  He didn’t think she had it in her.  He moves into her, eyes predatory, backing her up until she is against the door and can go no further. “Why on earth would you spread your legs for that greasy, self-righteous, surly bastard?  He has his stirring rod shoved so far up his ass I don’t think he CAN fuck.”  He takes her wrists in his left hand and pins them over her head against the door.  It makes her breasts jut out deliciously and he makes a show of watching them rise and fall with her increased excitement.  His right hand rests possessively on her hip, and he moves his thumb under the hem of her blouse to stroke her bare skin.  

 

He lowers his mouth to her ear, pressing the length of his body against her, his erection flush against her belly.  She lets out the most delicious little whimper. It turns into a full on groan when he exhales a hot breath on her neck.  “Responsive little thing, aren’t you? Why don’t you let me fuck you instead?”  

 

She lets out another wordless whimper.  He pulls back to look at her face.  “What do you say, Miss Granger?”

 

“Please,” she says.  It comes out as more of a moan than a word.  

 

He holds her gaze for a few breaths longer, letting himself drink in her arousal.  Then he takes both her hands in his and puts them around his neck where they belong.  He pulls her into his arms and tries to kiss her as tenderly as he can. It's hard. He has never bothered to learn how to kiss nicely before.  Mostly, he never bothers to kiss a woman at all.  

 

She is responding to him, though, so he must be doing alright.  Her arms tighten around his neck and her fingers caress the back of his neck.  

 

Severus pulls back from the kiss slowly, watching her face.  “But you didn’t come here for a quick fuck against my front door, sweetheart.  You asked me to make love to you.”

 

“And will you?” Hermione asks, brown eyes pleading with him.  She sees something flash across his face.  Doubt? Apprehension? Insecurity?

 

“I want to.  I’m going to try.  I’ve never done it before.”  He says it with frank honesty, all dissembling gone from his voice.

 

Hermione quirks an eyebrow at him in confusion.  He practically oozes sex.  There is no way this man could be a-

 

“I’ve had plenty of women, Hermione.  I’ve just never made love to any of them.  Not even close.  Not even in the same - what do the muggles say-  _ ballpark. _ ”

 

“Oh,” she says, at a loss for words.

 

Severus takes her hand.  “Come into the kitchen and sit down.  I have a pot of tea, and some questions for you.  After, if you want me to attempt to make love to you, nothing would make me happier. Alright, sweetheart?”  

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, following him into his kitchen.

 

“Sir?” he says pointedly.

 

“I like calling you sir,” she says, although she has just realized it.

  
“We’re going to talk about that, too, Miss Granger.”


	42. Chapter 42

Hermione sips her tea and studies the kitchen.  It is like the rest of Snape’s house - from what she has seen- old and full of books.  He is sprawled in the chair across from her at the kitchen table.  Hermione can’t stop staring at him.  His posture, his clothes, his bare feet.  It's so un-snapelike.  To her, anyway.  She has never seen him more at ease.  His expression, though relaxed, is unreadable.  

 

“What are you thinking?” she asks hm.

 

“That I like having you here.  What are you thinking?”

 

“I’m wondering which Snape is the real one,” she says, sipping her tea.  It’s lovely.

 

He raises his eyebrows at her.   _ Really? _  He brings one foot up onto the chair underneath him and rests his chin on his knee.  His other foot still rests on the floor.  He looks at Hermione.

 

“They’re all you,” she says.  

 

He nods.

 

“You’re a complicated man,” she says.

 

“All intelligent people are complicated, love.  It's the nature of the beast.  What are you staring at?  My chin?”

 

Hermione blushes.  “Your knee.”  His jeans are torn open at both knees.  His chin is resting on the pale white skin of his knee and she is fascinated by the sight it.  “I’m not used to being able to see so much of you.”

 

“I’m really not much to look at.”  He says it matter of fact, neither self conscious nor conceited.

 

“Au contraire, my love,” Hermione counters, “You are a feast for my eyes.”

 

His eyebrows go up in surprise.  “Do you?”

 

“Love you?” she says, catching his meaning.  Her heart is pounding.  “Most ardently, Severus Tobias Snape.”

 

“And I am in love with you, Hermione Jean Granger.  But you already knew that.”  He looks almost sad as he says it.

 

“I hoped,” she replies.  And then, before she can lose her nerve, “Are you afraid to make love to me?”

 

“Yes,” he says.  Uncharacteristically, he won’t look at her.

 

“Look at me Severus.”  

 

He looks up at her, bearded chin still on his knee.  

 

“Tell me why.”

 

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.  I have it in my head- I think- I know what you need from me.  But I’ve never done anything like it before.”

 

Hermione sets her tea down and goes to stand in front of Severus.  She motions for him to put his foot back on the floor and he complies.  She puts one hand on his shoulder to steady herself and slides into his lap, straddling him.  It’s not the same as straddling him on the couch.  

 

It’s much, much better.  He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her tight against him with a low growl.  She feels him become hard underneath her.  He winces a bit.  Wordlessly, she shifts a little for him so he can adjust.  He reaches into his pants and adjusts himself with a practiced motion, then puts his hand on her hip.  

 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says.  In this position, she is about an inch taller than he is.  She tips her head down slightly and puts her lips on his.

 

She is hesitant at first, and it is difficult for Severus to not take control of the kiss.  But when she runs the tip of her tongue along his lip and feels him throb in response, she grows bold.  Soon she is pressing into him, rocking her hips against him and devouring his mouth.  Her kiss, though unpracticed, is effective.  

 

Severus knows he should let her experiment, but he isn’t a bottom.  He’s reaching his limit on letting her have her way with him, no matter how pleasant her hips feel grinding on his cock.

 

He reaches a hand up to her face, stroking her cheek and caressing her neck soothingly before taking a fistful of hair.  Just as she did on his desk all those months ago,  she gasps with pleasure, breaking off the kiss. He pulls her head back, exposing her neck to him.

 

“You will tell me if this gets too intense for you,” he growls. “You will tell me if you don’t like it. You will tell me if you want me to stop.” 

 

“Yes, sir,”

 

“Good girl,” he says, and fists her hair tighter to test her response.

 

“Ow,” she says, but she grinds her hips into him.

 

“Does ‘ow’ mean no?”

 

“No,” she says.  “Don’t stop, Severus.  Please don’t stop.”

 

_ You are fucking perfect _ .  He trails a line of rough kisses down her neck, deliberately scratching her with his beard.  As before, whenever he scratches her or tightens his grip on her hair, her hips flex open for him.  Her moans are music to his ears, honest, unpracticed, completely uncontrived.  Her chest is heaving, her nipples are hard.

 

“May I touch your breasts, sweetheart?”

 

“Please,” she whispers, trembling in anticipation.  He is using his gentlest tone with her, which is completely at odds with the way he is handling her.  The juxtaposition makes both more intense.  She feels those long elegant fingers slide under the bottom of her blouse.  He sets his hand on her ribcage, right under her lace-covered breast.  His lips have made it down to her collarbone.  His other hand is still fisted in her hair, holding her head back firmly. 

 

He runs his thumb over the underside of her breast.  Her gasps have turned to heavy moans by this time and he can sense she is almost weeping.  She can’t take much more.  He cups her breast in his hand and sweeps his thumb over her small, hard nipple.

 

“Severus!” Hermione cries.  She moves her head, trying to get it free.  He lets go of her hair and stops the assault on her neck.  His right hand still cups her breast, thumb still stroking her nipple idly.  

 

“How are you doing, beautiful?” He asks her softly.

 

She puts her hands around his neck.  “Good.  Kind of overwhelmed.  I don’t know.  I need- I don’t know.”  She is flustered, squirming in frustration.

 

“You need to come,” he says.  

 

She blushes gloriously.  

 

“I’ll make you come soon, I promise.  Can you stay with me a little longer?”

 

She nods.

 

“Hands over your head,” he says, and she obeys.  He slips the lovely cream colored blouse over her head.  Hermione is wearing a lace bra in off white, and inside the bra are the most perfect pair of tits Severus has ever seen.  He cups them in both hands reverently before reaching behind her and unclasping her bra.

 

“Lean back and put your elbows on the table,” he says, his eyes never leaving her breasts.  She complies, and as she does he pulls the straps of her bra off her shoulders and down her arms, setting it aside.  When she settles back with her elbows on the table, her breasts are thrust forward in his face.   _ Fucking perfection. _

 

He takes both her nipples gently between his fingers, not pinching or tugging.  Then looks back up into her face. Her eyes are hooded and her face is flushed with arousal.

 

“Still with me?” he asks her.

 

She groans and thrusts her hips against his cock in response.

 

Severus, chuckles, still holding her hard nipples.  “I need a yes from you, sweetheart.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, gives him a little smile.

 

“Good girl,” he says, and pinches her right nipple.

 

She jumps in his lap and yelps.  He releases her nipple from the grasp of his thumb and forefinger and bends to take it in his mouth.  

 

“Fuck, Severus,” says Hermione when she feels his tongue against her nipple.  

 

He repeats the process on her other nipple.  This time when he pinches her she jerks but doesn’t jump, and when he bends his head down she thrusts her nipple up into his mouth, meeting him halfway.  He takes his time with it in his mouth.  

 

He finally releases her nipple from his mouth with a little  _ pop. _ “You are a goddess, Hermione,” he says to her, “Will you let me eat your pussy?”

 

Her mouth falls open in surprise.

 

Severus runs his hands up and down her bare back, trying to comfort her and ratchet down some of the tension.  “Has anyone ever gone down on you before, Sweetheart?”

 

She shakes her head.  Severus makes a mental note to kill Weasley.

 

“Please will you let me?” he asks, showering her breasts with small light kisses.  “I’m pretty sure you will like it.  You need to come.”

 

“Of course you can, Severus.  You don’t have to ask me,” Hermione says.

 

“Au contraire, my love,” he replies, stopping the kisses to look at her.  “I will always get your permission for something we haven’t done before.”  He pats her hip gently.  “Stand up.”

 

She complies, a bit wobbly.  He steadies her against the table.  His hands go to the button on her jeans.  He pauses.  Looks up at her.

 

“Please take them off me,” she says.  She’s starting to figure him out.  She knows what he likes to hear.  

 

“Thank you Hermione,” he says, thumbing open the button on her jeans and unzipping them with casual, practiced ease.  “Giving me your consent is the sexiest fucking thing you can do.”  He pulls her jeans and panties down past her hips in one swift movement. She is bare to him now, but he isn’t looking at her pussy.  

 

He’s looking up at her face, his expression quite serious.  He stands up, puts his hands on her hips, lifts her up onto the table.  Then he sits back down and begins to slide her pants off her legs.  All the while, his eyes haven’t left hers.  “Do you know what the sexist word you can say to me is?  Do you know what will make me hard every time?” 

 

Severus tosses Hermione’s pants to the floor.  She is naked on his kitchen table, sitting primly, legs pressed together.

 

“Do you know the word?” he asks her, standing up, eyes on hers.

 

“Yes,” she says, and spreads her legs for him.  

  
  



	43. 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N  my wise readers tell me I need to post a warning about the content in this chapter.  So here it is:  this chapter contains two consenting adults enjoying an activity that is scientifically proven to improve their health and well being- mentally, physically, and emotionally.  The activity is healthy, positive, natural, and in fact, their bodies were designed for the very activity in which they are indulging.  The activity isn’t dirty, or shameful, or wrong.  It’s FUN!  It’s NORMAL!  It’s HEALTHY!  Do it with a man, do it with a woman, do it with someone of any or no gender identity, do it with yourself!  If you’re a prude, fuck off my fanfic.  Otherwise, enjoy!

 

 

“Yes,” Hermione says, and spreads her legs for him.

 

Severus moves to stand between her legs, sliding his hands up her thighs to rest them on her hips.  He can feel her trembling slightly, but her eyes are calm.  He leans forward and touches his forehead to hers, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek.  

 

She scoots forward to the edge of the table and wraps her legs around him.  It feels delicious to be naked and pressed up against his fully clothed body.  She closes her eyes and sighs, just letting him hold her.

 

Severus feels the tension go out of Hermione’s body with her sigh.  She stops trembling.  Her eyes are closed.  He tips her head up and kisses her.   _ Gently, _ he tells himself,  _ you can do this gently.  _ But Hermione is grabbing his face in her hands and pulling him down hard on her mouth, opening her lips to him, pulling him into her with her legs, grinding her naked body against him.  

 

So Severus gives up on gentle and settles on thorough.  He kiss becomes hard, almost bruising, and his tongue invades her mouth and fucks it crudely.  He takes her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and is relentless with it, pinching it and kneading her breast until her moans turn to sobs in his mouth.  

 

He abruptly ends the kiss and bends down to kiss and lick her sore nipple.  Hermione sighs with relief.  Severus lifts his head to look at her.  She is swaying a bit and her eyes are a little glazed over.  Her mouth looks swollen.  He runs the pad of his thumb gently over her bottom lip.

 

“Was I too rough with you?” he asks, afraid of the answer.

 

Hermione shakes her head, then, remembers and says, “No.”

 

“That table can’t be comfortable, let me fix that,” he says.  His wand appears in his hand and he transfigures the top of his table to be cushioned and upholstered.  “Better?”

 

Hermione gives him a smile.  “Much,” she says.

 

Severus cups the back of her head in his hand and pushes her gently onto her back, following her down.  When she is splayed out underneath him he kisses her again, briefly, before getting her attention.

 

“Open you eyes and look at me, sweetheart,” he says, and she does.

 

“Are you comfortable?”

 

Nod.

 

“Scared?”

 

Hesitation.  “Only a little.”

 

“Tell me about it,” he says, stroking her hair.  “We have all the time in the world.”

 

“I’m afraid I won’t come,” she says, “I’ve never been able to with a partner.”

 

“You might not, and if you don’t, that's perfectly fine.  It might take a few attempts, but I promise you I  _ will _ succeed in teaching you how to come with me.  But first- you do make yourself come?”

 

Nod.

 

“Good,” he says, giving her a little kiss before continuing.  “Your orgasm is in your mind, Hermione.  It needs no help from me physically to actually take place.  My job, really, is to intensify it in two ways: through physical stimulation and by keeping you aroused.  Tell me, do you feel sexy splayed out underneath me on my kitchen table?”

 

This gets him a slow smile.  “Yes.”

 

“Good.  You are.  It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”  He’s telling her the truth.  “I’m going to eat you for breakfast at my kitchen table, Hermione.  After that, I’m going to take you upstairs to my bed and fuck you properly.”  He can feel her breathing increasing.  Their talk is having its desired effect.  “If you find it hard to concentrate, close your eyes and focus as hard as you can on the sensation of my mouth and tongue on your pussy- and- may I penetrate you with my fingers?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

He gives her a swift, hard, kiss.  “Concentrate on that, too.”  Then he begins to kiss his way down her body, pulling up a chair and sitting down between her legs.  He doesn’t even have to part her legs further- as soon as he sits down she spreads herself open for him as far as she can.  

 

Hermione is dripping wet and completely hairless.  He tears his eyes away from the sight of it and looks back up at her face.  She is watching him.  Her expression is frank in its desire, completely unabashed.  Again, her bravery puts him to shame.  He dips his head to taste her, planting a firm, open-mouthed kiss over her clit, pressing his tongue up against it, never breaking eye contact.  

 

The sound that tears out from between her lips at that first contact is a spell.  A spell that erases all his doubt, fear, and self-loathing about what he is doing to her, how he feels about her.   

 

Keeping his lips locked around her clit, he gives her clit a few flicks with the tip of his tongue.

 

“Gods, Fuck, Severus,” Hermione yells, rocking her hips forward and pressing into his mouth.  

 

Severus groans into her, desperately trying to keep his licks measured and soft.  His head is swimming with her taste, with her scent, the sound of the obscenities coming out of her mouth turning to incoherent groans.  She is spreading her legs further apart and pushing against him.  

 

He decides she needs something better than his face to push against, and brings one long forefinger up to her entrance, settling the tip of it just inside.  

 

“Please, Severus,” Hermione groans.

 

_ Good girl. _  He lets up the pressure on her clit, giving it a little break as he penetrates her.  She whimpers a little at the intrusion and he immediately stills his hand.  His stomach drops again, and this time he feels a little sick.  She is too tight.  If he tries to fuck her he is going to tear her in half, he is sure of it.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks her.  “Does this hurt?”

 

“No,” she says firmly.  “Please, please, please don’t stop Severus, please.”

 

“I won’t,” he says, but he pulls his finger out of her.  

 

She inhales to protest but he silences her with a gesture and produces his wand again, this time to conjure a pillow under her head.

 

“I need to be able to see your face for this part,” he says gently, “I don’t want to hurt you.  

 

Hermione nods and settles her head on the pillow.  

 

“You don’t have to keep your eyes open, love, but I need you to keep your face turned to me, okay?”

 

She nods.  “Now will you put your finger back inside me please?”

 

It’s all Severus can do not to propose marriage to her on the spot.  He dips his head, gives her clit a few soft kisses and flicks with his tongue.  Then he sits up to get a good view of her face and positions his finger at her entrance again.  She is staring back at him, fascinated, aroused, guileless. 

 

He slides his finger back inside her, never taking his eyes from her face.  It's hard to tell, her expression is intense and overwhelmed, but he doesn’t think he is hurting her.  

 

“How does that feel?” he asks her.

 

“Please just don’t stop,” she whimpers.  And she is not dissembling.  She means it.  She is afraid he will stop. 

 

He moves his other hand to rest on her belly right above her pubic bone.  He presses down there gently.  “Try to relax here,” he says.

 

She nods, takes a deep breath, tries to unclench.

 

He feels her core relax.  “Good girl,” he croons.  “Try to stay relaxed.”

 

She takes another breath, her eyes still on his.  His finger is sliding in and out of her easily now.  Still watching her face, he slides his forefinger all the way into her until it is buried up to the last knuckle.  

 

Hermione gasps, and groans. “Fuck, Severus.”

 

“Soon,” he promises her, dipping down briefly to her clit.  Then, “I’m going to try another finger.”

 

“Okay,” she whispers.

 

Remarkably, the second one goes more smoothly than the first.  Severus is weeping inwardly with relief. He begins to think he can keep his promise to fuck her without ripping her apart.  When he has two fingers buried inside her, Hermione’s eyes drift shut.  Her muttered curses devolve into indecipherable gibberish, then to deep moans punctuated by gasps.  He can’t help but grin wickedly to himself when he rotates his hand and, feeling with curled fingers, finds that little spot-

 

Hermione’s head bolts up.  “Severus!” she says, looking panicked. 

 

It takes all his self control not to laugh at the horrified look on her face.   _ Right on cue. _ “You’re not going to pee on me, love.  Relax.”

 

He mouth pops open.  “How did you-”

 

“I promise,” he says, and dips his head down to lick her clit, fucking her gently with his fingers.  When she finally relaxes, he curls his fingers up again, and increases the pressure on her clit.  

 

For a moment, no response.  She is absolutely still.  He sucks a little on her clit, pulling more blood into it and pummeling it with his tongue.  Then-

 

“OH MY FUCKING GODS, SEVERUS!”

 

He lifts his head up to say. “Relax, concentrate on the sensation, and take your time.  You are a fucking goddess and I can do this all day.”

 

Then Severus bends his head and sets himself to the task of making Hermione come.  She is close.  Now, his job is to keep her there and keep it feeling good until she figures out how to let go.  He brings her to the brink twice, and twice she gets in her own way.  The third time he brings her to the brink he ads his ring finger to his fore and middle finger inside her.  Her orgasm is fucking gloriously loud and messy.  By the time he lifts his head and pulls his fingers from her body his ears are ringing and his face is soaked.  

 

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans for a handkerchief.   

  
  



	44. 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Once again, if you don’t want to read about consenting adults having mind blowing sex, kindly fuck off. Thanks!

 

Severus hasn’t even finished wiping off his face when Hermione is struggling to sit up.  He figured she’d be incapacitated for a few minutes at least.  He gives his face a final once over and stands up to give her a hand.  When he gets her upright, some of the self satisfaction drains out of him at the sight of her face.  Yes, she looks satisfied and a little woozy the way she should.  But also- serious, shaken and - sad? No. Vulnerable.  He looks down at her, concerned.  He quirks an eyebrow.

 

She reaches her arms out to him, wrapping them around his neck and pulling him against her.  “I need you to hold me now, Severus.”  She says it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  

 

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into an embrace.  He splays one hand wide across the bare back and cups the back of her head with the other.  “Like this?” he asks her.

 

“Yes,” she says, “But tighter.”  She holds onto him like a drowning child.  He reciprocates, holding her as tightly as he dares.  He has never held anyone like this, but with Hermione he finds it extremely pleasant.  Apparently she does, too- she’s making cute little sounds of contentment. Not knowing what else to do, he rocks her, and kisses her temple.  She sighs.

 

“Am I doing it right?” he asks.

 

“Perfect,” she replies. Then, “I want to thank you for what just happened but I don’t even have words for what that was.”

 

Severus chuckles into her hair.  “There’s a lot more where that came from.” 

 

Hermione pulls away to look at him.  “Can we go upstairs now?”

 

Severus nods and helps her down off the table, and leads her up the stairs to his bedroom.  It is small- barely bigger than the bed that it holds, and immaculately clean.  It has no nicknacks, pictures, or clutter, save for the books stacked on every available surface.

 

Severus closes and wards the door, turns to look at Hermione.  She is standing in the middle of his bedroom, naked.  She beckons to him and he moves to her.  

 

“Take off your shirt,” she whispers, tugging at the hem.   She wants to feel his skin against hers.  She wants to touch him, and taste him.

 

Severus hesitates. “Are you sure?  It might spoil the mood.”

 

Hermione is very confused by this comment.  “You’re a fucking God and you know it, Severus.”  She gestures to his graceful, lean body.

 

He gives her a look.   _ okay, you asked.   _ He takes off his shirt.  

 

Hermione doesn’t gasp, but it takes all her effort not to.  Severus has a stunningly beautiful physique.  Yes, he is leaner than most classic bodies, but he reminds her of a statue she saw once of a roman charioteer.  

 

But Severus has a point.  It's impossible for her not to be instantly sobered by the scars.  He has obviously been tortured.  They aren’t all superficial lines across his skin either, although he has plenty of those. She has grown so used to the snake bite scars on his neck she doesn’t even notice them anymore.  But he also has deep, ugly, puckered, disfiguring scars.   _ oh my gods he’s missing a nipple.   _

 

Hermione looks up into his face.  He has his mask back on, his face perfectly blank.  “May I touch you?” she asks him.

 

He nods.

 

She quirks an eyebrow at him.  “I need a yes, Severus.”

 

That gets her a little half smile, it breaks through his careful mask.   _ thank fuck _ .

 

“Yes, love,” he whispers.  “You can touch me.”

 

She puts both her hands flat on his stomach.  It is deliciously cut.  She slides them up his torso, reveling in the feel of him.  The scars are shocking, sure, especially at first.  But they don’t diminish him.  She dips her head and kisses the angry puckered scar where his left nipple should have been.  He draws in a breath, letting it out in a hiss, and takes her by her hair, pulling her head away from his chest and kissing her forcefully.

 

She melts in his embrace, submitting easily to the violence of his kiss and pressing her body- warm, bare, pliant- against his.  He softens the kiss in response to her, turning it from aggressive to sensual.  She moans her approval into his mouth.  He lets go of her hair and trails his hands sensuously down her back to cup her buttocks, squeezing them, pressing her against his obvious erection.  

 

Hermione breaks off the kiss.  “Severus, please.”  She takes a step back, pulling his with her toward the bed.  

 

He untangles himself from her embrace.  “Lie back and make yourself comfortable, love,” he says to her, motioning to the bed.

 

She obeys, crawling onto the bed on all fours - _ wow _ \- before turning over and settling in on her back, curly brown head on his pillow.  

 

He pauses to admire her for a moment, then unzips his jeans and let them fall to the floor. He isn’t wearing anything underneath them.  He watches her face, and sees it.  A little flash of panic before she gets her expression under control.  A better man would regret being so endowed in this moment.   _ it’s perfectly fine to be proud of your cock,  _ he berates himself as he stalks toward the girl on his bed,  _ but you’d better not hurt her with it. _

 

He settles himself on top of her, still watching her face.  She seems to relax as he gets closer.  _ see? she trusts you. don’t ruin it.  _ He is surprised by how natural this position feels.  He balances his weight on his elbows, which are placed on either side of her head.  She reaches up to touch his face, bringing up her knees around his hips instinctively.  When she does this, the head of his cock is perfectly positioned at her entrance.

 

“Am I hurting you?” he asks her.

 

“No,” she says, as if it should be obvious.  

 

His hands are in the perfect position to stroke her face, so he does.  He marvels at how well they fit together like this.  

 

“I saw that look of panic on your face,” he says to her.  “Are you sure about this?”

 

“Yes,” she says.  “Absolutely sure.  You’re just - bigger- than I’ve seen before.”  She blushes a deep, glorious, scarlet.

 

He dips his head and puts his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.  “I’m not going to hurt you, Hermione.”

 

“Okay,” she whispers.

 

“We are going to try it like this, and if it hurts, I’ll stretch you with my fingers and then we’ll try again.”

 

“Okay.”

 

He kisses her.  Long, and soft, and slow, holding her face between his hands.   _ fucking finally _ , he berates himself,  _ that’s how you should have kissed her the first time.  _ Hermione feels incredible tucked beneath him, and she is responding beautifully to his kiss.  She is getting wetter, drenching the head of his cock where it is pressed up against her.  

 

“How do you feel?” he asks her.

 

“Safe.”

 

That word literally takes the breath right out of his lungs it hits him so hard.  He feels the foreign, almost alien prickle of his eyes tearing up.   _ you’re fucked, severus.  totally and completely fucked.  now make love to this girl before you bawl all over her. _

 

“Don’t hide your face from me, hmm?  And tell me if I hurt you.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.”

 

She does.

 

A she exhales, he pushes into her.  

 

“Fuck, Severus,” she says, trembling underneath him.

 

“Tell me it doesn’t hurt,” he pleads.

 

“Only a little don’t you dare fucking stop I never want you to stop, please, please-”

 

He kisses her,  “I won’t stop as long as I know you’re okay.”

 

“I’m okay,” she says.  Then, tentatively, “Is there more?”

 

He has to stop himself from laughing at her. “That's about half.”  Less, actually.  He doesn’t want to frighten her.  

 

He begins to move inside her.  

 

“Oh, wow,” she says, and rolls her hips up to meet his next slow thrust.  He isn’t expecting this, and he gives her a few more inches than he planned. She gasps, then groans. “Please,” she begs him, rocking her hips against him.

 

Watching her face very carefully, he slowly presses the rest of the way into her until he his buried to the hilt.  Hermione is coming apart with pleasure underneath him.  It’s a beautiful sight, and he is already on the very edge of his orgasm.  He ruthlessly pushes it back.   _ not yet. _

 

Now that he is all the way inside her, Severus knows he should be able to find the right angle where he is up against her clit as he fucks her, but her hips aren’t in quite the right position.  He reaches down with his right hand to cup her ass as he pushes into her -  _ fuck that’s good-  _ and adjusts her against himself.  He presses back into her at this new angle.

 

Hermione’s groans increase dramatically.  “Please don’t stop,” she says in his ear.  

 

He finds a slow, steady rhythm he can maintain without losing it quite yet.  Slow enough that he can kiss her mouth, her jaw, her neck, her shoulder.  Here he bites her- not hard- he can’t help it.  

 

“Fuck that’s good,” is her response.  He almost comes right there.

 

He fucks her a little harder, watching her face.  Her head is rolled back, her mouth open.  He can’t last much longer.  

 

“Gods, Severus, I think I might come again.  How do I-”

 

He locks eyes with her.  “Relax, breathe, concentrate on the sensation.”

 

She nods, her eyes pleading with him.  

 

He lets go of her ass and hooks his elbow around her knee, pulling it up and out before sinking back into her.  Hermione gasps in pleasure, her eyes wide with surprise for a moment before her head rolls back again. He gives her three swift hard strokes and she explodes underneath him.

 

After Hermione comes for the second time that morning she looks up at Severus.  He is still plunging into her, an intent look on his face.  Then his eyes close and his whole body goes stiff, trembles violently.

 

“Fuck,” he says. 

 

She realizes that he is having an orgasm.  She reaches up and pulls him close, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he spills himself into her.    

 

When Severus returns to earth from his orgasm, Hermione is clinging to him so tightly he can barely breathe.  Her cheek is pressed against his, and he can feel hot tears.

 

“What’s the matter, love?” he asks gently, rolling onto his side and taking her with him, rocking her back and forth.

 

“Nothing.  That was amazing.”

 

“Why are you crying?” he asks, stroking her hair.  

 

She pulls away to look at him.  “I’m not, Severus.”  She puts her hand up to his face.  “Those are your tears.”

 

His eyes open wide in shock.  She can see that he is about to bolt.

 

“No,” she says firmly.  “You’re staying right here.  You’re not done holding me.”

  
Stunned, he capitulates, rolling onto his back and tucking her against his side.  She lays her head on his shoulder and promptly falls asleep.  Severus lays there and watches her sleep for a long time before he drifts off as well.


	45. 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once moar with feeling: fuck off if you’re a prude, this chapter is all about consenting adults enjoying each other. while naked. yay!

 

  
  


Hermione wakes up slowly, a little too warm.  Severus is like a furnace in the bed with her.  They are still on top of the covers; it’s a little warm in the room.  She wants to cast a cooling charm, but she remembers her clothes and wand are on Severus’ kitchen floor.  She smiles to herself and sits up, unsticking from his side.  His breathing is soft and steady.  

 

Hermione lets her eyes sweep over his pale form in the fading afternoon light.  His skin is translucent, porcelain white, his body hair, (what little he has), completely black.  The hair on this torso is a neat line starting a few inches above his bellybutton and leading down to his-  _ he must do some manscaping.  his pubic hair is so- orderly.   _

 

She studies his flaccid cock in open mouthed fascination.   _ what the fuck? where does the rest of it go?   _ She sees that his balls are completely hairless.   _ I’ve never heard of a grown man with hairless balls. that has to be the result of manscaping.  _ They look so soft.  She is reaching out to touch them before she realizes it.  When she does, she jerks her hand back.

 

“Don’t lose that Gryffindor courage now, Miss Granger.  Things were just about to get interesting.”

 

Hermione squeals and jumps about a foot off the bed. She looks up at Severus.  He is watching her with a predatory look.  She blushes furiously and looks away from his face, only to have her gaze fall back on his cock.   _ did it grow just now? I swear it looks bigger. _

 

Severus chuckles softly, deep in his chest.  “You have that effect on it,” he says.  “And to answer your question- I’ve never heard the ridiculous term ‘manscaping’ but yes I do trim my pubic hair and remove it entirely from my cock and balls.”

 

Hermione just stares at him, bright red.  She has no idea what to say.   _ Why? _

 

“Same reason you do, I assume,” he says conversationally.  “So that when I put my balls in your mouth you aren’t spitting up nut hairs for a week.”

 

Hermione just stares at him, absolutely speechless.

 

“Get your thoughts organized, sweetheart,” he chastises her gently.

 

She does it easily.  It really doesn’t take any effort anymore.  She’s just not used to doing it right when she wakes.  “Why, though?” she asks him, her blush finally fading from tomato red to pink. “Does it even matter anymore?”

 

“I don’t want you getting used to having your lover be able to read your mind.  You need to learn to communicate.  I would be extraordinarily remiss in my duty as your- mentor-” (here, Hermione thinks he means a different word but doesn’t say it)- “if I let you get used to me reading your mind.  It could end up being a potentially dangerous habit for you to get into.”

 

“You mean for when I’m with someone else,” she says flatly, obviously upset by the insinuation.  

 

Severus reaches out and takes her hand.  “I am in love with you, Hermione.  But you are a brilliant, beautiful young woman.  I would be remiss in my duty and responsibility to you if I don’t at least prepare you for the possibility that you might have other lovers.  Life is long, and I have an even longer list of enemies.”

 

“So have I,” she says, but her voice has lost its edge.

 

He pulls her back down into him, taking her into his arms and tucking her head under his chin.  She makes a little sound in her throat- almost like a little kitten growl- that he thinks is her contented sound.

 

“How do you feel, love?” he asks her.

 

“Safe,” she says again.  

 

His heart turns over in his chest.   _ how does she do that to me?  _ “Any pain?”

 

She squirms against him experimentally.  His cock twitches in response.  “No sir,” she says.  

 

_ I still need to talk to her about that. _  He rolls her onto her back and pushes her knees apart.  “May I?” he asks her, holding his hand between her legs.

 

“Of course,” Hermione says, curious.  This doesn’t feel sexual.  

 

He brings his hand up to his mouth and wets his entire forefinger with this saliva, then brings his hand back down between her legs.  “Keep your face turned toward me and tell me if you have any pain at all.  Understand?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says.  She’s already getting turned on.   _ am I not supposed to be?   _ then,  _ I can’t imagine him not wanting me to be. _

 

Severus explores her folds gently with his lubricated finger, watching her face for any sign of pain.  He is fully erect now, but he pays his cock no mind.  

 

Finished with the outer examination, he traces his finger down to her entrance, considering for a moment if he needs to wet his finger again.   _ nope. _

 

His finger slips easily inside her and he prods her walls methodically.  It isn’t meant to be sexual, but  _ fuck she is so sexy. _  Hermione spreads her legs wider and moans up at him, her eyes never leaving his face.  He continues his thorough examination, although she is so wet now it’s getting difficult.  He adds a second finger and plunges them both into her, watching her face.  She closes her eyes in pleasure.

 

“No pain?” he asks her.

 

“No pain,” she answers him.  She grabs his arm and tugs at him, trying to get him on top of her.

 

Severus smiles down at her, fingers still buried in her pussy.  “Use your words.”

 

“Please make love to me again Severus,” she says, her eyes still closed.  

 

“Open your eyes,” he says, settling on top of her.  That position that once felt alien only hours before now feels like coming home.  

 

Hermione opens her eyes.  Severus is looking down at her, both his hands cupping her face.   _ How can black eyes look so warm?   _ She feels his cock press up against her entrance and she lifts her knees, opening herself to him.  

 

“Try not to close your eyes,” he says softly, kissing her once, twice three times on the mouth.  

 

She nods, loving the way his hands feel cupping her face.  He pushes into her, never breaking eye contact.  Her eyes widen and her mouth opens.  Her fingers clutch at his back.  He sets a slow, languid pace, trying to keep as much contact with her clit as he can.  He watches her face and feels her body respond underneath him.  It doesn’t take long for the tension to start building in her.  Her moans become more urgent, her hands are pressing into his back, trying to pull him further into her, harder against her.  

 

“Severus, please,” she moans.  

 

“You want it harder?” he says.  His voice has an edge to it. 

 

“Yes,” she whispers, rolling her hips into his thrusting.

 

He takes her right hand from his face and moves it up the the headboard.  “Brace yourself,” he tells her, showing her how to lock her elbow.  “Keep your face turned to me and tell me if it’s too much.”

 

He keeps his left hand on her face, soft reassuring, but he lifts his right hand to the headboard to brace himself as well.   _ don’t get carried away and hurt her you asshole,  _ he tells himself as he pulls out and pushes back into her, hard.  Hermione’s shocked intake of breath at the force of his penetration almost tears his heart out of his chest until-

 

“Wow, yes.”

 

He doesn’t let go.  He can’t.  He would literally tear her apart if he did.  But he does fuck her in hard, measured, relentless strokes.  She braces herself against the headboard and meets every thrust.  He knows he must be causing her some pain.  But he can feel her getting wetter with every hard thrust and he can see the orgasm building in her.  Her breath comes faster.  She starts to perspire.  She lets her eyes fall closed.  And then she is shaking and crying out and coming apart underneath him in a shuddering mass of gasps and moans.

 

He takes her hand from the headboard and puts it back around his neck.  He slows his pace to a gentle rocking motion, enjoying the sensation of the aftershocks of her orgasm on his cock.  He kisses her long and slow, still moving in and out of her at a steady pace.

 

“Did you come?” she asks him.

 

He shakes his head.  “I’m close,” he says, taking her in long steady strokes.  “Tell me you want me to come.”

 

She lifts her head off the pillow and and kisses him on the mouth.  “I want you to come, Severus.  Come for me.”

 

And he does, with a long shuddering groan.

 

_ wow  _ thinks Hermione.  She wraps her arms and legs around him as he lets go.

 

_ “ _ How did you do that?” she asks him once they can both talk again.  They are laying on their sides.  She has her face pressed into his chest and he has his leg thrown over her hip.  He’s stroking his fingers through her short curls.

 

“Do what, love?”

 

“Come when I asked you too.  They’re always doing that in the romance novels, except is usually the man who’s all ‘come for me’ and the girl who’s like ‘oh I’m coming!’”

 

Severus snorts.  “That shit is ridiculous.  And I didn’t come when you asked me to.  I came when I asked you to ask me to.  It was right there.  Also, I’ve had years of practice controlling my orgasms.”  

 

“Oh.”

 

“Right now,” he says to her, tilting her face up to him, “Just focus on having your orgasms.  Later, you will learn to control them.  Although it’s not so important to learn that as a woman.  Your pussy doesn’t go out of commission when you come.”

 

Hermione nods. “Yes, sir.” And then, “I’m hungry.”

 

Severus smiles down at her.  “Fuck I love you.  Come on, let's go find your clothes. And we need to have a conversation about that.”

 

“About my clothes?” she asks, following him out of the bed.

 

“About you calling me ‘sir.’”

 

Hermione doesn’t know what to say to that, so she just follows him down the stairs.

  
  



	46. 46

Back in the kitchen, Hermione and Severus are fully clothed.  

 

“Sit down, love, and let me cook you dinner,” he says, pushing her into a chair.  “Tea or wine?”

 

“Oh,” she says, “Wine, please.”

 

Hermione watches Severus in utter fascination.  Severus- back in his torn jeans (no underwear) and ‘Deviants’ t-shirt. ( _ is that a band?)  _ Severus barefoot, unshaven, hair pulled back, uncorking a bottle of Rioja.  

 

“Let it breathe a bit,” he says to her, as he pours her a glass.  It's a deep, dark, brick red color.  She can smell it as soon as he pulls the cork out of the bottle.  

 

Hermione just nods mutely, staring at him.  His long, beautiful fingers holding the wine bottle so lovingly, the stark black ugliness of the dark mark standing out on his forearm.

 

“Breathe?” she asks him, lost.

 

“It's a young wine, so everything is all up front in your face.  The tannins are fresh.  Just let it hang out for a few minutes- ten if you can wait that long- swirl it around in your glass to speed up the process.  It will react with the oxygen in the air and mellow out.”  As he is talking to her, he brings out a loaf of rustic bread, tears it up into bite size pieces, and then prepares a small flat dish with oil and vinegar and herbs.  He puts them in front of her.  “If you’re not used to big red wines get some food on your palette first.  This should tide you over until dinner.”

 

Hermione just gapes at him.  Nods.  Takes a piece of bread.

 

Severus pours himself his own wine and takes a long pull from the glass.  It looks to Hermione like he holds it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing it with a satisfied groan.  And then he starts cooking dinner.  

 

“Hermione,” he says.

 

“Yes.”  She looks up at him.

 

His face softens when she looks at him.  He charms the knife to cut the potatoes.  “You changed my life today.  I am literally a different man after what we did.”

 

“Please just tell me we can keep doing it,” she says softly.  She feels like this is where the ground falls out from underneath her feet.

 

Severus is taken aback.  “You think 

I’m going to change my mind?”

 

She nods.  “It feels too good to be true.”

 

“It probably is,” he agrees.  “And I’ll probably fuck it up, sweetheart.  As I’ve told you before, I’m not a good man.  But change my mind about you?  No.”

 

She nods, and, not knowing what else to do, takes the first sip of her wine.  Severus watches her face carefully.  She winces as it his her palate, dry and harsh.  Looks at Severus.   _ Really? _

 

“Again,” he says.  

 

She takes another sip.  Not so harsh this time and- - she takes another sip.  Then she takes a mouthful, holds it in her mouth like Severus did.  Inhales through her nose.   _ wow. _

 

_ “ _ Holy fucking shit Severus,” she says softly after she swallows.

 

“Right?” he says, putting the potatoes on to boil and putting the beef in the pan to sear.

 

“Is this magical?” she asks him.  There is so much going on, it can’t just be-

 

“No.  That’s what good wine tastes like.  It’s the earth and the sun and the rain and the grapes and the charred oak barrels and the steel casks.”  He wipes his hands on a towel and steps away from the stove moving toward her slowly.  “It's the dew in the morning.  It's the hoof of the deer in the vineyard.  It’s the spanish music playing over the radio while the grapes are picked.  It is the love and the poetry and the passion and the wisdom of generations of master vintners- captured in a bottle.”  He pauses, standing over her chair.  “It's a rustic spanish table wine from a small family vineyard.  Nothing fancy.”  

 

Severus bends over her and plants a kiss on Hermione’s wine stained lips.  He thinks he might die of pleasure right there in his kitchen.  Then he goes back to the food.

 

Hermione drinks her wine.

 

“So,” says Severus.  “I need you to talk to me.  There aren't any wrong answers.  I’m dead serious, Hermione.  I just need to understand where you are coming from.  Otherwise I can’t-” he struggles for the word.  It isn’t like him, and Hermione realizes that she needs to give him honest answers, although she has no idea what his questions will be.  “I can’t give you what you need.”

 

“Okay,” she says, taking another gulp of wine.  

 

“Why are you still calling me sir?”

 

“Because I like to,” she answers.  And it’s true.

 

“Why do you like to?”

 

She takes another pull of her wine and is quiet for a long time.  He lets her think, watching her.  “It feels good,” she says slowly.  “It is comfortable and familiar.  It’s- I know I’m not your student anymore, Severus but- you’re still my teacher, you’re still my mentor.  I don’t want to stop learning from you and giving you the respect you deserve due to the position you hold in my life just because we’re also- you know.”  She flounders.

 

“In love with each other?”  he finishes for her.

 

“Yes,” she says.

 

“The problem, sweetheart, it that there is a huge power imbalance between us if you still view me as an authority in your life.”

 

“I don’t see you as an authority figure.  I  _ do  _ look up to you.  You  _ have _ earned my respect.  And I’ve always had a little hero worship thing for you.  Getting to know you is making that worse, not better.  I can stop calling you sir, but it’s not going to change anything, not really.”

 

“I agree, sweetheart.  I honestly don’t want you to change anything.  It turns me on when you call me sir.  I just want you to be  _ aware.” _

 

“Wait- it turns you on?” Hermione says, shocked.  “I thought you didn’t like it.  I thought it reminded you of being my professor.”

 

“Yes, it turns me on, Miss Granger.  I keep telling you I’m not a good man, and I know you still don’t believe me, but that doesn’t make it any less true.  I get off on it.”  He looks up from what he is doing to give her a hard, frank, look.  It is meant to be frightening, or sobering maybe. 

 

But it turns Hermione on when he looks at her like that. She says so.

 

Severus snorts, goes back to cooking.

 

“Are you worried that you might take away my choices? Is that it?” she asks.

 

“That’s a huge part of it,” he says.  “The most important part.”

 

“Well, if you trust me I can set your mind at ease on that.  I don’t care how many orgasms you give me, and I don’t care how much you love me.  I have interests and goals and ambitions and you’re not going to get in the way of them.  I hope that you help me achieve them- I love learning from you almost as much as I love you.  But I wouldn’t give any of it up for you.”  

 

Hermione seems much older than her nineteen years when she talks to Severus like this.  He is both relieved and devastated.  Relieved that she knows what she wants and isn’t willing to compromise on it.  Devastated because it’s verifiable proof that she has been forced to grow up too quickly.  He sighs and sets the meat aside to rest, comes across the kitchen to stand in front of her.

 

“Thank you,” he says, bending down and kissing her forehead.  He hears her hum softly with pleasure when he touches her.

 

“Severus?” she asks softly. “I like our dynamic the way it is.  If it’s a little twisted that we get off on continuing the dynamic we had as teacher and student so what?  You  _ are  _ still my teacher.  I think it's hot.”

 

“Ditto, Miss Granger.” He notices her empty glass and refills it.  “Careful with the wine, you haven’t eaten all day.  Let me get some food in you.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, as she lifts the glass to her mouth.  

 

“I have my application ready for the university in Venice.  Should I send it tomorrow?  I wanted a recommendation from you but…  I think my marks are good enough I don't need it and now that we're romantically involved -”  She says this when she has devoured half of her meal in a few minutes.  

 

“I agree.  Which college are you applying to as your primary?”  Severus watches her inhale the food he cooked for her, highly amused. 

 

The university in Venice is composed of many small colleges each with a different focus.  Each student is officially a student of one college, but can take classes at the other colleges.

 

“Transfiguration,” says Hermione.  “It was that or potions, and i honestly couldn't make up my mind.  Then I realized you would probably take a job or at least be very involved in the college of potions, so, transfiguration.  Are people going to disapprove of us?”

 

Severus thinks on that for a moment before answering.  “Yes and no.  It will be different.  The university is a place of knowledge and learning.  We will definitely be noticed, our relationship will be remarked on.  But they will soon realize that I am the least interesting thing about you.  You won't be defined by me like you would be if we stayed here.  Like you have been by Potter- sorry -  _ Harry. _ ”

 

Hermione smiles at this.   _ He is trying so hard for me _ . “How long will it take them to accept me?  Where will we live?”

 

“You should get an invitation to an interview almost immediately. Then it's just a formality. As for lodging they will offer you a dormitory. But I am going to take a position with a local nobleman- we will have quarters on his estate.  He fancies himself an alchemist philosopher, but really he’s just wealthy and influential.  He’s been after me for years.  He has one of the most extensive private libraries in all of magical Europe.”

 

Hermione quirks up at this.  

 

“In fact,” Severus continues, “I suspect him of having an old alchemical manuscript that is rumored to be the one Flamel used to create the sorcerer's stone.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

Severus gives her a severe scowl.  “Language, Miss Granger.”

 

“Piss off, Professor,” Hermione says cheerfully. 

 

He sets down his wine glass.  Folds his arms across his chest.  “Detention, Miss Granger.”

 

Hermione smiles.  “Are you going to spank me?”

 

“Do you want me to?” His expression is frank.  He is not kidding. 

 

Hermione’s mouth pops open in surprise.  She doesn’t know what to say.   _ Do I want him to?   _

 

“I won’t do it unless you ask me to, Miss Granger.”  

 

“Do you want to?”

 

He looks at her for a long moment.  “Yes.”

 

While Hermione’s brain is trying to process this and doesn’t really know what to think about it, her body is reacting very differently.  The more she considers letting Severus spank her, the more aroused she becomes. 

 

“Come here, Miss Granger.” 

 

Hermione gets up and walks around the table.  

 

Severus vanishes their empty dishes off the table.  “Stand here.” He motions for her to stand between his legs and the table. 

 

She complies. 

 

“Turn around.”

 

She complies. 

 

“May I take your pants down, Miss Granger?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

He unbuttons her jeans and yanks them down to her knees along with her panties. 

 

“Bend over the table.”

 

She does.  

 

“Fuck you are so beautiful,” he says, palming her ass gently.  “Are you afraid, sweetheart?”

 

“No,” she replies, wiggling against his hand. 

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because you won’t spank me unless I consent,” she says calmly, trying to spread her legs apart.  It's hard with her pants around her knees. 

 

Hermione can’t see him, but Severus is grinning.  He kisses her lightly on both cheeks.  “I love you,” he says.  “Do you want me to get those off you?” he asks, watching her try to part her legs for him. 

 

“Yes, sir,” she says. 

 

He divests her of her jeans and panties and she promptly spreads her legs and arches her back, giving him a perfect view of her arousal. He puts one hand on each perfect white globe and spreads her wide open to him.  She gasps in surprise.  The sight of her tight little asshole makes his erection throb painfully. 

 

“He kisses each of her cheeks, as close as he can get to that little pucker without touching it.  She gives him a glorious moan. 

 

Severus licks his finger and trails it down her crack until it comes to rest where he wants it. She goes very still under his touch. 

 

“I want to stimulate you here,” he says, tapping his finger.  “I won’t hurt you.”

 

There is a long silence, and for a moment he thinks he has pushed her too far, too fast.

 

“Okay,” she whispers. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He starts with her pussy.  He waits until she is groaning and pushing back against him before he trails his tongue back upward.  She freezes on him again.  He gives her gentle licks with his tongue, kneading her ass cheeks with his fingers, spreading them apart so he can invade her most private places.  

 

Hermione is able to resist the pleasure of what he is doing to her for about five seconds.  Then, “Oh my fucking gods, Severus.”  She doesn’t want to like it.  She can’t think of time that she was more embarrassed.  But it feels too good, and she starts to squirm and push back against him. 

 

He dips his mouth back down to her pussy, but replaces his tongue with a finger.  She clenches, thinking he might try to penetrate her with it, but he doesn’t.  He’s just rubbing her there, and It’s making her burn with pleasure.  Then something horrible happens. She feels that smallest hole open to him of its own accord.  She jerks away from him, mortified. 

 

Severus stands up, and bends over her, covering her body with his own.  He strokes her hair and kisses her cheek gently.  She likes the way his jeans clad erection feels pushing into her. 

 

“That was a perfectly natural reaction,” he says in her ear.  “Why are you embarrassed?”

 

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. 

 

“If you’re truly uncomfortable I will stop,” Severus tells her.  “But I think you were really enjoying it before you got embarrassed.”

 

Hermione nods. 

 

“Will you let me continue?””

 

“Yes,” she says. 

 

“Tell me I can penetrate you with my finger.  I promise it won’t hurt.”

 

He feels her whole body flush in embarrassment, but she says, “Yes.”

 

“Good girl,” he says, and stands back up.  She thinks he is going to sit back down, but he doesn’t.  He takes her right hand and guides it underneath her to her clit. “Touch yourself,” he orders. 

 

She complies.  He strokes her back while she rubs herself.  She's glad he can’t see,  She’s mortified.  

 

Then she hears his zipper.  He pulls her hips back from the table a little. “Don’t stop touching yourself,” he says, and she feels the head of his cock probing her entrance.  She groans with anticipation, embarrassment quickly fading.  He sinks into her.   _ Fuck that’s amazing.  _ She grips the table with her left hand and rubs her clit with her right.  She feels stuffed full with his cock, delirious with pleasure.  Then she feels him spread her ass cheeks.  Something wet hits her squarely in her asshole.   _ Did he just spit on me?  _

 

Hermione’s pussy is so wet and tight it's hard to concentrate, but Severus manages.  The goblet of spit hits its mark.  She goes quiet when she feels it. But when he starts to massage her there with his thumb, the groans come back with a vengeance.  She increases the speed of her hand on her clit.  He increases the speed of his thrusting.  Her little sphincter relaxes for him and his thumb slides right in.  He doesn’t let it go very far. 

 

“You are so sexy,” he tells her.  “With my cock in your pussy and my thumb in your ass.  You are going to make me come so fucking hard.”

 

He wants to bury his thumb deep in her ass and watch her squirm and moan and beg for more.  But he promised it wouldn’t hurt, so he just massages her gently with it, dipping in and out in rhythm with his fucking.  She is shaking pretty hard now- it won't be long-

 

Hermione shrieks as she orgasms.  _ That's a new sound.   _ He keeps his strokes steady until her climax subsides.  When she is reduced to a wet trembling mess he pulls out of her and takes himself in his hand.  He holds her ass cheeks apart with his other hand and comes on her there. 

 

Hermione is too overcome with bliss to be embarrassed by the feeling of his hot come drenching her ass.  Feeling brave after her enormous orgasm, she reaches back and spreads her cheeks more fully for him.  

 

Severus collapses on Hermione’s back.  “Bed?” he asks her. 

 

“Please,” she says. 

 

He apparates them into bed. 

 

“Show-off,” she mumbles as she takes off the rest of her clothes.  She snuggles in against him.  He is still fully clothed, but she drifts off before she can tell him to take his damn clothes off. 


	47. 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to one of my favorite reviewers.

Hermione wakes a few hours later from a strange dream.  Someone named Francine was telling her she needed to eat.  And stay hydrated! She sits up. 

 

Severus opens his eyes.  “You okay love?”

 

“I’m hungry again.  And thirsty.  What time is it?”

 

“A little after nine, still early.”

 

“Shit,” she says, reaching for her wand.  She casts a quick patronus and sends it to Grimmauld Place.   _ ‘I’m fine.  I'll be back sometime tomorrow.’ _

 

“We need to stop leaving my clothes in the kitchen,” says Hermione.  “Thanks for bringing my wand this time.”

 

“I was afraid you were going to wake up too warm again,” Severus says.  “Let go find your pants.  Again. And I’ll reheat dinner.”

 

Back down in the kitchen, Severus opens another bottle of wine and wordlessly pours Hermione a glass.  

 

“Can I have some water too please?” she asks him.  “Francine says we need to stay hydrated.”

 

“Who is Francine?”  Severus hands her a glass of water. 

 

“I don’t know,” replies Hermione, “But she was very insistent.”

 

“Tell me how it went when you left the house yesterday,” he says when they are seated with their food, avoiding her eyes and staring at his food pointedly. 

 

“Tell me how you seem to know things you shouldn’t,” Hermione counters.  “And please don’t sidestep me this time.”

 

Severus looks up from his food and gives Hermione a very serious look.  “I pity the man who ever underestimates you.”

 

“Many have,” says Hermione. “At their peril.”

 

Severus chuckles darkly.  “May I never underestimate you, at my peril,” he says, and raises his glass to hers. 

 

She toasts him, sets down her glass and looks at him pointedly.   _ Don't make me repeat myself.  _

 

“I am a spy, Hermione.  I have worked hard to sharpen my senses through the years and have had some success.  My hearing, in particular, is closer to that of a cat's than a human’s.” He watches her over his wine glass, waiting for a reaction.  She just stares back at him. “My nose isn’t bad, either,” he says and winks at her.   _ Winks.  _

 

Hermione feels slightly ill at his implication.  “You mean you can smell-” she breaks off, turns beet red.  

 

“It's complicated, sweetheart.  Your body chemistry changes when you become aroused.  Your temperature rises, your breathing and heart rate increases.  Your skin releases pheromones.  And yes, you smell delicious when wet.  Don’t be embarrassed by it, please.”  He gives her his stern professor look. 

 

“I love it when you look at me like that,” she says.  Then, “So you knew about the extendable ears.”

 

He nods, watching her. 

 

She tells him about the confrontation in the kitchen at Grimmauld place that morning.  To her, it feels like it was ages ago.  Severus goes very still when she tells him about breaking the mug, relaxes a bit when she tells him about Ginny’s tears bringing her back. 

 

“The headmistress and I are very concerned with how easily you can shut off your emotions when they overwhelm you,” he says seriously.  “When we get settled into Venice there’s a witch there I want to introduce you to.  I think she can help you get a handle on the darker side of your nature.”

 

“Like a therapist?” Hermione says, smiling a bit. 

 

“Nothing of the sort,” Severus replies.  “You don’t have to go home tonight, do you?”

 

“No.  I’d like to stay, if that's okay.”  She looks at him, a little unsure. 

 

“If I have it my way you won’t ever sleep apart from me again, Miss Granger.  That being said, you need to do what feels right to you.”  

 

“What feels right to me is to fall asleep on your shoulder.  But I have to eat all this food and drink some more water.”

 

“Because Francine says so?”

 

“That's right.”


	48. 48

_ To Miss Hermione Granger,  _

 

_ We have received your application and credentials.  Finding that you meet or exceed our acceptance requirements, we hereby invite you to a attend a formal admissions interview at your earliest convenience.  _

 

_ Sincerely,  _

 

_ Admissions _

_ College of Transfiguration  _

_ University of Venice  _

  
  
  


_ Professor Snape _

 

_ This is a joke, yes? I thought you would never leave your dungeon full of idiot children.  If hell has indeed frozen over I would like to reassure you that my offer still stands, same salary as we discussed plus twenty percent for an assistant.  I would offer suitable accommodation for a man of your talent and status.  I eagerly await your acceptance of my offer.  _

 

_ Count Spumoni _

_ Isle of Murano _

_ Venezia  _

  
  
  


It is late Sunday morning at Spinner’s End.  Hermione has been (practically) living with Severus for a little more than a week.  Every room in his house as been turned into a library.  The sitting room is a library with seating.  The dining room is a library with a dining room table.  The bedrooms are libraries with beds in the them.  The kitchen is a cooking library with a kitchen in it.  The bathrooms are the bathrooms, and the basement workroom is warded so heavily the Severus apologetically told her it would be easier if they just kept out, so she hasn’t seen it. 

 

Hermione is seated at the kitchen table, sipping a mimosa and watching Severus cook her chicken Florentine crepes for brunch.  Every day he wears his favorite jeans and an obscure British punk t-shirt.  The only music he plays in his house, however, is classical.  (he prefers baroque, Handel’s horn concertos being his favorite)  When Hermione remarks on this inconsistency, he only says, “remnants of a misspent youth.” 

 

They haven’t really left the house, not together anyway.  They seem to have an unspoken agreement not to be seen together until they have left the British Isle far behind.  But when Severus does leave, he always changes into slacks and a dress shirt.  Hermione wonders how many people have seen ripped jeans and a t-shirt Snape, but is afraid to ask. 

 

“How are we getting to Venice?” Hermione asks him when he brings brunch to the table. 

 

“Portkey to Paris, one week in Paris, then Portkey to St Mark's.”  Severus begins eating his crepes in small precise bites.  Hermione watches him eat until he gives her his ‘eat your food’ glare.  Reluctantly, she takes her eyes off him and begins to eat.  The meal is heaven, of course.  They all have been.  She just likes to watch him eat.  Just like everything he does, it is dignified, precise, mannered.  Except fucking.   _ There is nothing dignified or mannered about the way he fucks.   _

 

Severus looks up from his food and raises an eyebrow at her, then goes back to eating. 

 

Hermione blushes.   _ He always catches me.  _ “Paris?”

 

Severus scowls and gives his annoyed grunt and shake of the head.  “The Count is a pompous prick.  No clothing you or I own will be good enough if we want to live in his palace.  Which we should, because he will be offended if we snub his offer.  Which means we have to spend a week in Paris.” Severus gives her a ‘what do you do’ look and goes back to his food.  “The wine will be good, at any rate.”

 

“Are you saying I have to dress a certain way if I want to live with you in Venice?” Hermione asks him, trying to keep the alarm from her voice. 

 

Severus looks up at her.  Sets his fork down carefully and wipes his mouth with his napkin.  “I didn’t even think about that,” he says, eyes wide.  “Fuck.  I am a high handed, controlling jerk.”

 

“You’re nothing of the sort, love,” Hermione says softly.  “Still, it sounds a little- confining.” She looks at him pointedly. “Are you really going to wear a costume for this man?”

 

Severus shakes his head irritably.  “Fuck no, I’ll wear the same thing I always do, my robes will just be made of finer cloth and custom tailored.  The Count will snivel at me, I’m sure, but he wants me badly enough so that will be the end of it.  But of course, me being the controlling asshole that I am, I didn’t even think about the fact that you would have to change your entire style of dress.  He literally wouldn’t let you in the door wearing muggle clothes.”

 

“If I agree to this, what would I have to wear?” Hermione asks carefully.  He did let her pick the University, after all.  He quit Hogwarts and took this job  _ to be with her.  _

 

“Witches robes,” Severus says.  “The count would of course prefer you in ridiculously ornamented witches robes that reveal most of your bosom.  But I think you should just pick the style you are the most comfortable in.  As long as they are tailored and expensive.  If he tries to insult your taste I’ll use the cruciatus on him.”  He is dead serious. 

 

“I don’t think it's unreasonable to be required to wear robes in the magical world.”  Hermione says.  “Are you really going to let me pick the style?”

 

“I won’t ‘let’ you pick anything, Miss Granger,” Severus says stiffly.  “You will pick whatever you like.  If the Count makes a fuss I’ll tell him to bugger himself and I’ll work somewhere else.  Please accept my apology for just assuming you would change your entire wardrobe for me.”

 

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Severus.  I know you’re used to having your way.”

 

Severus chuckles inside at this.  She has no idea how right she is.  

 

“You’ve changed your whole life for me,” she continues.  “I think I can change my clothes.”

 

“You will be taken more seriously by the Wizarding world if you stop dressing like a muggle.”  Severus sighs.  “But I also understand your need to push back against those prejudices.  Ultimately the choice will always be yours.”

 

“I’m going to University to learn, not make a big statement about the backwards ways of the Wizarding community.  Witches robes it will be.  But how expensive are we talking about?  I really need my money from the order of merlin to last me through university.”

 

Severus looks appalled she would even ask.  “It won’t cost either of us a bent knut.  It will all be billed to the count.  If he wants us dressed like Venetian courtiers he can bloody well pay for it.”

 

“Well then,” says Hermione, tucking back into her meal with new enthusiasm, “No girl in her right mind turns down a free new wardrobe.  And you’re right, the wine will be good.”

 

“When we’re finished with the tailor I’ll take you into the countryside and we can pretend to be muggles and go wine tasting.  How does that sound?”

 

“Like heaven, Severus,” she says. 

 

“Heaven,” he replies as he finishes the last of his crepe, “will be when you let me have you for dessert.”

 

“You know it's hard for me to come with a belly full of food, Severus,” she says.  

 

“Good,” he replies.  “That means I get to enjoy you for longer.”  He looks at her patiently, waiting for her consent. 

 

“Of course it's yes, Severus.  It's always yes.  But-”  She stops here.  She doesn’t want to spoil the mood, and she definitely wants Severus to have her for desert.  But she wants to have him, too.  

 

“If there's a ‘but’ it's not a yes.  Tell me.”  He’s using his gentle voice.  

 

His deliberately gentle voice always calms and reassures her.  “Why don’t you ever let me return the favor?” she asks quickly before she can lose her nerve. 

 

The look he gives her is thoughtful, not irritated, and she is relieved.  She waits for him to answer, knowing that his answer will be both true and honest. 

 

He looks almost apologetic when he finally gives her an answer.  “Because I don’t want you to go down on me.  I want to fuck your face.”

 

Hermione’s eyebrows go up at this.  But she is used to being surprised by him.  And she is starting to realize that he is as particular about how he fucks as he is about everything else in his life.  “How would that work, exactly?” she asks, and then thinks of a better way to ask.  “Tell me what it looks like when you fantasize about it.”

 

Severus gives her an approving nod.   _ She is learning.   _ “I’d rather show you.”  He waits for her consent. 

 

“Yes,” she says. So far, every time she says yes amazing things happen.  It is quickly becoming one of her favorite words. 

 

“Will you consent to taking my cook and balls in your mouth?” he asks, dead serious. 

 

“Yes,” she says without thinking too much about it. 

 

“Your mouth will be full,” he says, “To withdraw your consent, tap me with your hand three times.  Also, I need your promise that you will stop me if you don’t like it. I have no interest in doing this to you if it doesn’t turn you on.  If I even suspect that you are enduring it for my sake, I will use legillimency on you.  This is important, Hermione.  If you don’t like it, but you don’t stop me, you will be violating  _ my  _ consent.  Do you understand?  Submitting to face fucking isn’t something you ever need do.”

 

“I understand, and I promise,” she says. 

 

“You’re already getting aroused.  That's a good sign.”

 

Hermione is getting used to his creepy superhuman senses.  She doesn’t even blush.  She just looks back at him. 

 

Severus vanishes brunch off the kitchen table.  “Take off your clothes, Miss Granger.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, and complies. 

 

“Come here,” he says when she is fully naked.  He stands up from his chair. 

 

Hermione goes to stand in front of him.  He reaches out to cup one breast in his hand, and kisses her chastely on the mouth.  “Get on your knees.”

 

Hermione lowers herself to the wood floor gingerly, but when she kneels she finds it soft and comfortable.   _ I fucking love this man.  _

 

“Knees farther apart.”

 

She complies. 

 

“Keep your hands off me unless you want me to stop,” he says.  “You can touch yourself if you want, but don’t feel the need to perform for me.  Understood?”

 

“Yes, sir,” she says, looking up at him.  

 

He reaches down and cups her cheek tenderly.  She holds his gaze, her brown eyes calm and trusting.  She is fully aroused now, and the smell is intoxicating to him.  He brushes her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.  She parts her lips, and the tip of her tongue darts out to taste him.  His cock twitches so violently she sees it through his jeans, and her eyes widen.

 

“You are a goddess, Hermione,” says Severus as he unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out.  “Now be a good girl and open your mouth.”

 

She complies and Severus plunges his thumb into her mouth when she does.  She moans, closing her eyes.  Now that she is face to face with it, she is a little frightened of the size of it.  

 

“Eyes on me, Miss Granger.  And wet your lips.”

 

She licks her lips and looks up at him.  His left hand is cupping her face quite tenderly.  He grasps the base of his cock with his right hand, bringing the head down to her mouth.  He rubs it on her lips, carefully watching her face for signs of fear or revulsion.  She moans, and he gets a fresh wave of arousal from her.  

 

“Good girl,” he says, and puts the head of his cock into her mouth.  

 

Hermione thinks she is going to die of pleasure.  Finally, after a week of no success, she has his cock in her mouth.   _ all I had to do was ask.   _ Hermione has never had a cock in her mouth before, but she has read her fair share of romance novels.  As soon as the head of his cock clears her lips she wraps them snugly around him and swirls her tongue around it, keeping her teeth pulled back. She is rewarded with a hiss of pleasure. 

 

“That's perfect, love,” he says to her.  It takes some effort to make coherent words.  “Relax and let me fuck you now.  Remember to tap me if you want me to stop.”

 

Now that he is seated in her mouth he takes his right hand off his cock and puts it on her face.  He is a gentle as he can possibly be, stroking and caressing her face with his hands as he moves in her mouth.  Hermione feels his hand move down to caress her throat.  

 

“Relax here as much as you can, sweetheart, open up a little more.”  His voice is soothing.  She relaxes her jaw and lets her mouth open wider.  He thrusts in further.  She feels the head of his cock hit her in the back of her throat with every thrust.  The thrusts are firm now instead of gentle.  It's overwhelming and she feels like she might choke, but it's also really turning her on. 

 

“Good girl,” he croons to her.  “You are so fucking sexy.”

 

The combination of his voice in her ear, his hands on her face and throat, and his cock thrusting into her mouth is almost too much.  Barely aware of what she is doing, her hand strays from her thigh downwards, and she begins to touch herself to relieve some of the pressure. 

 

Severus hisses at the sight, smell, and sound of her clearly getting off on him fucking her face.  Still stroking her throat in a soothing motion, he moves his other hand from her face to the back of her head, and takes her by the hair.  

 

Her answering moan, muffled by his cock buried in her mouth is glorious.  It takes every last ounce of self control he has not to shove himself straight down her willing throat.   _ Not this time.   _ Instead, he holds her hard by her hair and fucks her face in earnest.  Her mouth becomes flooded with saliva and it starts dripping down her chin and onto her perfect tits.  Embarrassed, Hermione tries to wipe at it with her hand. 

 

“Leave it, it's fucking sexy.”

 

She puts her hand back down between her legs and moans around his cock.  He almost comes in her mouth right there.  Instead he pulls out. 

 

Hermione gets a few gasps of air into her lungs when he pulls out of her mouth suddenly.  He still has her firmly by the hair, though, so she knows he’s not done. 

 

“Tip you head back sweetheart,” he says, pulling her head back until she's staring at the ceiling.  “Open your mouth,” he tells her, his voice low and rough, “And remember what I told you about tapping out if you don’t like this.”

 

She opens her mouth. 

 

A few minutes later Hermione understands exactly why Severus removes the public hair from his scrotum, and makes a mental note to thank him when her mouth isn’t full.  

 

Severus pulls himself out of her mouth with a groan.  “I can’t take anymore,” he says, almost apologetically.  He releases his death grip on her hair and rubs his fingers through it gently.  He wipes the saliva off her face with his thumb.  “Fuck you are beautiful.  Come here.”

 

He helps her to her feet.  Her legs are shaking a bit, but they don’t hurt.  He holds her against him with one arm, steadying her and waiting for her breathing to slow.  Hermione feels his other hand wander down her belly to between her legs.  He laughs darkly when he feels how wet she really is.  

 

“Tell me why you liked that so much,” he whispers in her ear, teasing her clit with his fingertips. 

 

“I don’t know it was just really intense.  Especially when you grabbed me by the hair. “ She moans in his ear as he slips a finger inside her, then releases his hold on her. 

 

“Get on the table and spread your legs.”  He has already transfigured the tabletop for her.  She lays back for him on the table, butt at the very edge in front of his chair, and holds her legs apart for him, as she has done countless times in the past week. She pulls the cushion he always provides under her head so that she can watch him. 

 

Sometimes he dives into her pussy like a starving man, relentlessly fingering her and sucking her clit until her orgasm is almost forced out of her.  

 

Today is the other way.  He showers her with tender little kisses.  He teases her clit with nothing more than the tip of his tongue.  His licks are slow and tender; he is making love to her with his mouth.  

 

Hermione closes her eyes and relaxes into him, focusing on the sensation the way he has taught her.  She knows there is no point in rushing this orgasm.  He eats her like this when he is in the mood to do it for a long time.  He doesn’t penetrate her with his fingers.  He just uses his lips and tongue on her clit.  It takes longer for her to come this way.  When she does come, she comes in a shuddering moaning crying wet mess under his mouth. 

 

“Fuck, Severus,” she says when she catches her breath. 

 

“Your wish is my command.  Here or on the bed?”

 

“We can do it here?” she asks shyly.  Up until this point he has only eaten her on the table, not fucked her on it. 

 

In response he stands up, pulls his cock out and plunges into her in one motion. 

 

“Oh my fucking gods.  Please.  Just like that.”

 

Severus moves in and out of her, experimenting with the angle until-

 

“Oh... there.” 

 

_ Perfect.   _ He flicks his forefinger light and quick across her clit as he fucks her.  Hermione is writhing and crooning underneath him.  

 

“Look at me, Hermione.”  His voice is firm. 

 

She opens her eyes and looks up at him. 

 

His black eyes are staring down at her.  His expression is fierce and demanding.  He’s fucking her just about as hard as she can take, now- quick hard thrusts that shake the entire table.  All the while his finger flicking relentlessly across her clit.  It hasn’t been long since her last orgasm, but Severus is learning how to play her body like an instrument.  

 

“I’m close,” she whispers to him. 

 

“I know,” he says, his face still fierce.  

 

She whimpers.  The second one is always a little harder.  It's elusive, especially when it comes so soon after the first. 

 

“Don't try to force it,” he says, his eyes glittering into hers.  “Just relax and let me fuck you. You have no idea how sexy you look laying there on your back and taking my cock, tits bouncing.”

 

She is right on the edge now.  So is he.

 

“I imagined taking you like this on my desk at Hogwarts so many times,” he says, slamming into her.  He feels her start to let go.  “Every night I helped you study your pussy was so wet I could taste it from across my desk.”

 

“Fuck,” she says, and then she’s coming apart underneath him.  It's all he can do to keep his strokes steady until she is done.  When she is, he hauls her up into a sitting position, his cock still buried inside her. 

 

“Wrap your legs around me,” he says. 

 

She does.  He kisses her deeply, and thrusts into her one, two, three times.  He let's go inside her, holding her tight against his body, his face pressed into hers.  

 

“Let's go to Paris tomorrow,” he says when he can talk again.  “I am so in love you.  I want to be with you in Paris.  Fuck Great Britain and every person in it.”

 

“With a few exceptions,” Hermione says, “I agree.  We'll have to do dinner tonight at Grimmauld place. After that I'm all yours.”

 

“Truly?” he says. 

 

“Do you remember the first time you dried my tears?” she asks him. 

 

“Of course.”

 

“That was the first time I felt safe since the war,” she replies. “And I have belonged to you since that moment.”

 

His heart hits his stomach and his eyes prick with unshed tears.  He holds onto Hermione as tightly as he dares and doesn’t speak.  He can’t speak. 

 

Hermione holds onto him just as fiercely.  “Are you okay, Severus?” she asks him. 

 

He nods, and continues to hold on to her. 

 

“Tell me how you’re feeling,” she says gently, reaching up to stroke his face. 

 

“Safe,” he says. 

  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - We are coming to the end of part one of this story. I know I’ve left a few small plot holes, but I’ve really just let Hermione and Severus drive this story, the other stuff feels a bit irrelevant to me. Still, I may go back and flesh some things out at some point. (FYI- Snape had a conversation with the sorting hat before the start of the term and told it not to sort anyone into Slytherin if they harbored prejudices about purity of blood. He thought it would weed out a few bad eggs, he didn’t realize it would result in not a single person being placed in Slytherin.) Cami, thank you for your comments, and your concern. I was struggling with how to bring this to a vanilla ending, also I am staying now on a tiny island in Indonesia and the snorkeling has been a big distraction. There is also a very cute much too young for me bartender here trying his best to get in my pants lol. He has been a lovely distraction, but I fear that his efforts are in vain. 
> 
>  
> 
> For those of you who are familiar with the BDSM community, or at least have read about it, you may have noticed some of those dynamics cropping up between Severus and Hermione. I wanted to give the vanillas who have been reading this story a good ending place, to maybe push the boundaries on their thinking about sex and power dynamics, but hopefully not offend them. I hope I have succeeded. If you identify as a vanilla, I would love to hear your feedback in the comments on what you liked, and what maybe pushed it too far, or anything you found offensive. There are no wrong answers! (fellow kinksters, let me handle the response to these comments please)
> 
>  
> 
> I would also like to extend a formal invitation to any and all vanillas to give part two of this story a try. It will be consent and communication based, and Severus and Hermione will remain monogamous. We will also delve deeper into the concept of light and dark energy/magic. Don’t worry, no one's going over to the dark side.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> One more short chapter to wrap this up I think. If there are any plot holes you need filled (lol) let me know in the comments and I’ll do my best. 
> 
>  
> 
> Much love to you all.


	49. 49

Severus and Hermione bring the wine.  Grimmauld place is a little crowded when they show up.  Harry greets them at the door.  Hermione throws her arms around him. 

 

“Oof,” says Harry, but he gives her a big bear hug.  “Are you okay?” he whispers in her ear. 

 

“He can hear you,” Hermione says in a normal voice, “But thank you for asking.  I’m fantastic.”

 

Harry lets her go, Severus steps forward and puts out his hand.  “Harry,” he says, “Thank you for having us.  We brought a few bottles of wine, can I get them opened to breathe in the kitchen?”

 

Harry’s eyebrows go up at the warm greeting from the Professor of snark.  He shakes Snape’s hand.  “Sure, professor,” he says, “You know the way.”

 

Snape nods and moves past Harry and Hermione through the hall.  “And it's Severus,” he says, “When you call me professor I feel like I’m about to give you detention.”

 

Hermione and Harry gape after their surly Potions Professor, surly no longer.

 

“What did you do to him Hermione?” Harry says, deadly serious.  “Is it the Imperius?  Or the mother of all cheering charms?  Tell me.”

 

Hermione smiles, wondering if she should keep telling Harry Severus can hear him.  “I am as surprised as you are,” she says.  Then, “Am I hearing Luna?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I invited Luna and Neville.  I thought you wouldn't mind.”

 

“Not at all.  I’m glad you did.”

 

In the kitchen, Severus is uncorking the first bottle of wine.  Everyone is a bit uneasy, and he wonders how to break the ice.  If it weren’t for Hermione, he would have enjoyed nothing more than to make them all sweat bullets for the whole affair.   _ These dimwits are the people Hermione loves, you asshole.  They were good to her when you were busy humiliating her and ridiculing her.  Now she’s leaving them to be with you.  Figure out a way to make them comfortable and do it right quick.  _

 

“How are you, Professor Snape?”  It's Neville that breaks the ice.  The children all stare at him.  Their expressions range from concerned to bewildered to terrified. 

 

“Please, everyone, call me Severus,” he says.  He can’t quite bring himself to smile, the expression just isn’t natural to him unless he’s looking at Hermione.  But he tries his best to look calm.  Pleasant even.  “I'm not a Professor anymore.  And thank you for asking, Neville.  I’m better than I have been in two decades.  How is your Grandmother?”

 

Hermione and Harry enter the kitchen to Severus pouring glasses of wine and inquiring after Neville’s Gran.  Hermione is so happy she tears up. 

 

“Excuse me,” she says, and rushes off to the loo before she embarrasses herself.  When she returns moments later, Severus looks across the room at her, raising his eyebrows.   _ Are you okay?  _

 

_ “ _ I’m perfect, love.  Happy.” She says it under her breath, so that only he can hear.  Then she goes to help Ginny and Harry with the table. 

 

Severus is talking to Luna now, asking her how she likes editing the Quibbler.  

 

“Oh, it's lovely to finally be in charge.  I’m working on a piece right now on Minister Kingsley.  He employs an old childhood friend as an assassin,” she tells him conspiratorially. “I’ve also been working on a series of personal interviews with members of Dumbledore’s army and the Order of the Phoenix.  It's for a series of articles I’m calling ‘Stories of the Resistance.’”

 

Severus nods pleasantly.  “I received your correspondence.  I appreciate the effort, but I don’t do interviews.”

 

“A quote won't kill you, Severus,” she says in her sing song voice. 

 

Severus looks at her.  Then, “I’ll give you something better. On the record.  It was I who put an end to the House of Slytherin.  I told the sorting hat not to sort any boy or girl into Slytherin if they held prejudices about blood purity.  If the ancient Wizarding families want save House Slytherin, they have to stop raising bigoted little assholes.”  He smiles at her then.  A genuine smile that doesn’t even have the hint of a sneer. 

 

The kitchen is dead quiet. 

 

Then Ginny speaks up.  “Are you fucking serious?”

 

“As a fucking heart attack,” he says, turning to her.  “Think of it as my parting gift to the so called pure blooded Wizarding families of Great Britain.”

 

Ginny is stunned.  “I- I don’t know what to say.  I think I don’t hate you anymore.”

 

“Pity,” replies Severus easily.  “That little hex of yours is hilarious.”

 

By the time they are seated around the kitchen table for dinner, the mood is warm and lighthearted.  People are talking easily, and it's almost as if Snape’s seven year reign of terror over them never happened.  

 

Ginny raises her glass.  “To house Slytherin,” she says, toasting Snape.  Everyone laughs and cheers. 

 

“To Severus and Hermione,” says Harry, “Good luck in Venice.”

 

“To the cause of the light,” says Ron, who has been quiet and thoughtful tonight, but not rude, for which Hermione is grateful.  “And those who died for it.”

 

Severus turns to Ginny and Ron, seated next to each other.  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says.  “To Fred Weasley.”

 

Ginny reaches for Ron’s hand under the table.  She can’t speak, but she touches her glass to Snape’s.  

 

Severus touches his glass to Neville’s.  “Frank and Alice Longbottom,” he says. 

 

Last he turns to Harry.  “Lily and James Potter,” he says, looking into Harry’s bright green eyes.   _ I’m sorry I couldn’t save them, Harry.   _

 

Later in the evening, Severus even remembers to thank them for ‘that ridiculous card.’  Every time he wants to make a snarky comment or insult Weasley, he looks down at Hermione seated next to him.  He doesn’t remember ever having seen her look so happy.  The snarky comments die on his lips before he utters them. 

 

When it is time to go, Severus shakes Harry’s hand and bids the others a polite farewell.  Hermione is standing next to him, in fact, she has hardly left his side all evening.  He puts a hand to her cheek and kisses her forehead tenderly.  

 

“Take all the time you need for goodbyes, love.  I’ll wait for you in the hall.”  Then he looks up at Ginny.  “No hex for me this time Ginny?  You’re losing your edge,” he smirks, and departs the room. 

 

Hermione gives up trying not to cry.  She exchanges tearful hugs with everyone, and promises to invite them to Venice once she gets settled in.  Her last hug she saves for Harry and Ron. 

 

“God's I love you guys, she says, holding them both to her, one with each arm.  Ever since the thing with the troll.  Answer my owls when I write to you.”  She kisses them both on the cheek. 

 

On the front stoop of Grimmauld place, Hermione and Severus prepare to apparate home. 

 

“I’m too emotional, Severus,” she says, still teary eyed.  “Will you get me home safe?”

  
He takes her in his arms. “Always,” he says, and with a little *pop* they disappear into the night- together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N That’s a wrap, my dear readers! Your support has been awesome. This story will continue on Archive of our own, under the name Hermione and the Philosopher King. 
> 
> Thank all of you for the lovely comments.


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